


From Page 41

by Animom



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-08
Updated: 2011-10-08
Packaged: 2017-10-17 18:46:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Animom/pseuds/Animom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pharaoh Set knew that Mana meant well, but what she'd brought back from the River of Time was certainly NOT Kisara. ** Humor/angst with faint romances.</p><p>*HIEROGLYPHSHIPPING (Priest Seto/Pegasus) of a sort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Shrine of Wedju

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! is the intellectual property of Kazuki Takahashi and Konami, and is being used in this fanfiction for fan purposes only. No infringement or disrespect of the copyright holders of Yu-Gi-Oh! Or its derivative works is intended by this fanfiction.
> 
> Note: This fic follows anime canon rather more than manga canon, and is intended to be humor. **If you're expecting excruciating levels of historical accuracy, stop now: you're going to be disappointed.**  
> 
> 
>   
> .  
>  Dedicated to Azhdarcho and Shirogane,  
> who gave birth to a plunnie on 12 December 2010 and then let me adopt it.  
> .  
> 

.

.

Even though it was long past midnight, he knew he wouldn't be able to calm his mind enough to sleep, swirling and churning as it was with the hundreds of details and decisions he had to keep track of as ruler of the kingdom; so when he got to his chambers he pulled off his robes of state, tiptoed across the empty room (re-assigning the floor-slaves to other duties had been one of his first acts as Pharaoh), took a small key from its hiding place, and opened the special wardrobe coffer. Buried at the bottom, under stacks of gilt-cloth and Tyrian-dyed silk, was the hooded acolyte's robe that he had worn at a time when he had been, not Pharaoh Set, not High Priest Set, but simple, ordinary Set. Several lifetimes ago, that seemed now.

He walked quickly and silently through the palace, his heart pounding so loudly that he felt sure that every guard he passed could hear in its beats his guilty secret, that he was going to visit the only tangible reminder he had of the woman he would have given anything to save. When he came to a deserted corridor he pressed a hidden panel, opening it just wide enough to slip into into complete darkness behind it, and then closing it to blindly descend the stone steps that led to the secret underground entrance of the Shrine of Wedju.

Kisara. He often wondered if love was as strange and wonderful for everyone as it had been for them: did it strike everyone so swiftly, so deeply? He could remember all their brief moments together so clearly: the feel of her hair, the perfect blue of her kind, beautiful eyes, her soft, musical voice, the heartrending sound of her sobs …

Her sobs?

The sounds were coming from the chamber ahead of him. Set was outraged: whoever had dared profane the Shrine would pay dearly.

He threaded through the rows of stone slabs containing lesser _ka_ toward a faint glow on the main aisle _,_ where whoever it was sniffled and said, "And I finally finished everything in the blue book, and did the first few in the red book, but … " The words sped up, as if the speaker were racing up a hill, "… there's some stuff … I don't understand … and I need you … to explain."

Set stood in the shadows watching Mana, who had conjured a tiny yellow flame on the floor in front of the tablet of The Black Magician. She sniffled again, wiped the tears from her face, and said, "I miss you _so much."_ She touched the tablet's stone border with her fingertips. _"Please_ come back." She bowed her head and began to sob again.

Set understood all too well her sentiments. He turned to go, planning to leave her to her sorrow, but as he moved his sandal scuffled on the stone floor, the sound magnified by echoes in the huge chamber.

"Who's there?" Mana cried out, a pink fireball spinning in each hand.

He quickly stepped into the light.

"Oh! My pharaoh!" she said, waving her hands to dismiss the fireballs. "You're here for – " She looked down the aisle toward the tablet of the White Dragon.

He saw no need to acknowledge the obvious. "How often do you come here?" he asked.

She looked guilty. "Hardly ever. Only when – "

"Only when you are overcome with sadness?"

She nodded, the corners of her eyes sparkling with constant tears. "I'm sorry that I'm so weak."

"It's not weakness," Set said. "It's natural to think about an important person that has gone to the next life." He didn't want to rush Mana out of the temple – they were both there for similar reasons, after all – but it would be uncomfortable talking to Kisara if others were present. "Our memories of them are sacred, precious."

Mana sniffled again, then said, "Oh!" She hurriedly gathered up the stack of books and some paper-wrapped sweets lying in front of the Magician's tablet, then scrambled to her feet. "I'll leave! So that you can have privacy!"

"Thank you, Mana," Set said. "Perhaps – perhaps you could visit him on even-numbered days of the week? and I will visit her on the others?"

Mana nodded her head in agreement and ran off, leaving the magical flame in front of the Magician's tablet burning.

Set waited until the echoes of her footsteps had completely faded, and then knelt in front of the White Dragon tablet. "Oh Kisara … how I wish you were still here."

~ : ~

Set was listening wearily to his High Priest Kheffry insist, for the third day in a row, that it was _essential_ to immediately enforce the old, pre-disaster schedule of religious observances. While Set did understand the need to get the country back to normal, he was sure that even on his most inflexible days as Atem's High Priest he would have recognized that rebuilding houses and getting the fields ready for the Inundation was far more important than having thousands – and truly, now only hundreds – of people prostrate themselves before the royal balcony several days a month. He wondered, as Kheffry unrolled and began to read from yet another papyrus, if the other priests had elected Kheffry as High Priest not so much for his ability to serve the Pharaoh as to remove him from the ecclesiastical chambers before they went insane and killed him.

"As I told you two days ago, I have already made my decision," he said when Kheffry finally stopped reading. "Consult the oracles, and with the god's guidance select one ceremony per moon cycle. _One_." As Kheffry started to protest Set cut him off firmly. "After the Inundation, we will weigh again the will of the gods and the spirit of the people. Until then, we will speak no more of this."

Kheffry frowned but nodded. Set sighed and lifted his hand to dismiss the Sacred Guardians. As they began to leave the chamber in ones and twos in search of supper Mana caught his eye: she was gathering up the various bound tomes she always carried and placing them into her satchel as slowly as possible. Clearly she had something to say, and to him alone.

Once everyone else had gone, she glanced around the room, then pulled out a huge, ancient looking book bound in dark leather. "So I've been doing some reading," she said. "And I found a spell."

"Spell?" Set said. He didn't like to think ill of the dead, but he that thought often recently that he could add "very poor teacher" to the list of Mahaado's faults: although Mana's proficiency had improved, her spellcasting still caused the prudent to clear the immediate vicinity. "What does this spell do?"

"It's hard to explain, but – you know people say that time is a river?"

Set had never heard this, but it did make some sense, he supposed, and so he nodded.

"Well," Mana said, her voice slightly more confident than usual. "If our life is like sitting on a riverbank, watching the Water of Time go by, then the future – things that haven't happened yet – is upstream. And the past is downstream."

Set wondered where this was going.

"And this spell," Mana was now nervously playing with the Ring, "it lets you – run downstream. Faster than the river's flow _._ "

"And why would you do that?"

She said solemnly, "Going down stream means going into the past. To maybe catch something that has floated away?"

"I don't quite see … " he said, but actually he was starting to think that he did. His heart began to gallop.

"So that's the first half, the spirit-traveling part, which is easy. The other half of the spell," she opened the huge tome, "lets me make a mirror image of any living thing, and bring it back to where were are now on the riverbank. Which is actually a when. And not a real river, but you know what I mean." She looked up at him expectantly. "Won't it be wonderful?"

"So you would – "

She smiled and jumped in place. "Yes! I'll go into the past, to just before you and Shaada found Kisara in the marketplace. I'll copy her, and bring her back here." She stopped jumping and bit her lip. "I'm not sure if her _ka_ will be copied, but it's not like she'll have to bring the White Dragon out once she's safe here, right?"

"Mana!" He almost tossed her in the air in his excitement. " _You can do this?"_

"Well, actually," she said, running to her satchel, "I already did." She pulled out a small bronze box. "Look!"

Set took the box, opened it, then drew back, startled. Inside was a huge spider.

"Remember how upset Kheffry was when Queen died?" Mana said. "I just went back to just before I stepped – er, _before Queen died_ – and got a copy."

It was astounding how stimulating hope could be.

~ : ~

Although it was quite an ingenious idea in theory, he doubted at first that Mana had the magical prowess to bring Kisara back: but then, as she brought back a succession of beetles, birds, lizards, the exact twin of an elderly three-legged cat that he remembered from his childhood, he began to believe.

And that led to a new concern. He didn't know much about magic, but even he could see that as the creatures got larger so did the magical circle needed to copy them, and so was the _ba_ that Mana was expending bring them back. He found himself beginning to worry that something would go horribly wrong with the spell, and that he would lose Mana, the only person from his past still alive. The only one he could talk to about Kisara and Atem.

"You can't do it," he finally said to her. "I forbid it."

"Why?" Mana, who had just brought back a copy of a goat with perfect moon-shaped patches of white fur on either flank (a herd of which had been gifts from the Nubian Empire during Aknamkanon's reign).

"As Pharaoh, I am responsible for the welfare of the people," he said as coldly as possible. "You are people. I will not allow you to endanger yourself."

"And I am a Guardian," Mana said, scowling and lifting her chin with pride. "The welfare of the Pharaoh is _my_ responsibility."

Seeing her determination, all his worry condensed into impulsiveness. "I don't want to lose you too."

She laughed. "No one will be lost! It's an easy spell for me now."

He could see that she was not going to be dissuaded, and so he nodded. "Alright. I will trust my magician."

Mana promised to rest fully for an entire day, and then left.

Set paced. His Kisara! He couldn't believe that soon he would see her again, hold her again. And yet – was what they were doing a defiance of the gods? Was it blasphemy to cheat Fate so? Still … had the goddess Isis accepted the murder of her divine husband Osiris, Horus would never have been engendered. Surely the Great Mother would look kindly on the use of magic to bring back a lost love? He folded his arms, his mind swirling as he tried to recall any prophecy or religious law prohibiting what they were about to do. His stomach churned with anticipation and fear and doubt and uncertainty.

~ : ~

The summoning circle Mana needed to draw for Kisara was too large for Set's private chambers, so they closed off the throne room (at every door posting guards with strict instructions that they not be interrupted for any reason) and rolled up the heavy rugs in the center of the room.

After lighting a dozen lamps to illuminate the huge chamber, Set paged though the ancient tome as Mana drew the summoning circle. "Where is the spell?"

"Part five, page forty-one," Mana said, concentrating on drawing sigils. "Lines 2020 to 2024."

Set found the page. He wasn't well-versed in arcane languages – and it didn't help that some of the words on the page kept blurring every time he concentrated on them – but he thought that he glimpsed, from the corner of his eye, the word _beware_

. Or perhaps it said _naked._ He was about to ask when Mana nodded emphatically, dusted off her hands, and then sat down in the precise center of the circle. "Ready."

'What can I do?" he asked.

"Think about Kisara," she said with a smile, closing her eyes and putting her hands on her knees. "About how much you love her. Describe her to me. It will help tether me to this spot on the Riverbank of Time."

Before he could even start, however, Mana frowned and jerked, as if shoved by an invisible hand.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"The River is really wide tonight. The current is very strong."

"It – it wasn't before?"

Mana shook her head, wincing with effort. "Not this much. I guess it gets bigger as I summon bigger things." She leaned forward a little and clenched her fists. "There, I'm swimming in it now. So, Kisara …?"

Set paused. "Long white hair. Beautiful eyes …"

Mana shook her head. "I don't see her."

Set waited, gripping the book.

"Oops," Mana said, with more than a little panic, "I might be … sort of lost. There are so many people!"

"You should stop, then," Set said, crestfallen. He should have known that it wouldn't work; it was too miraculous. "Come back before you lose your way."

"No." Mana was stubborn. "I'll just – Oh wait! I see Atem!" She giggled. "Good thing he had such recognizable hair." She leaned forward a bit more. "Oh, and now I see you ... I think." She sounded doubtful."You used to dress much differently."

"Yes," Set said, thinking of the simple tunics he'd worn as a boy. "But it sounds like you've gone too far back." Although ... he _had_ met Kisara when he'd been a teenager. Perhaps it would be good to have a younger Kisara, one who had not suffered so much?

"I think I see her," Mana said suddenly. "She's in a … stone building. In a dungeon?"

Set nodded. "Yes, she was quite often a prisoner." _Even in the very depths of this palace_ , he remembered with shame, and hoped that this Kisara wouldn't remember it.

"Alright, here goes," Mana said, holding her arms out as she chanted.

Set stepped back as Mana began to glow. The summoning circle around her blazed with pink flame, the fire rising higher and higher until, with a howling blast of wind, both Set and Mana were thrown to the walls.

He hurried to help her up. "Did it work?" she asked, and they looked to the center of the room and saw, by the dim light of the two lamps that had remained lit, a heavy cloud of mist swirling in the summoning circle.

And in the mist a figure.

"What the _hell_?"

Kisara's voice was stronger, deeper than before – possibly the result of being pulled from the spirit world, or being without her _ka_ , or … odd, though her silvery hair was as beautiful as ever in the dissipating mist, her shoulders were rather wider than Set remembered. As he found himself staring at Kisara's unusually well-muscled buttocks and legs – which must have been from the running she did all her life – she turned around just as he was thinking that she was much _taller_ than he remembered.

And then, although Set had never had the privilege of seeing his beloved naked, he was willing to bet both of his pharaonic crowns that in her former existence Kisara had never had what he could see all-too-clearly in the dim lamplight. 

He caught Mana as she fainted.

.

_~ to be continued ~_

.

.

Special thanks to **Silver Dragon Golden Dragon** and **sefina.**

Additional author's notes at my Dreamwidth (animom.dreamwidth.org)

.

(10) 13 Sept 2011 ~ ded


	2. The Stranger from the North

.

.

"Mana!" Pharaoh Set lowered her to the floor, fanning her. "Mana! Speak to me!"

She opened her eyes, lifting her hand weakly. "What happened?"

Set looked over at the white-haired figure, who – yes, even in the dim light of the few remaining oil lamps it was without a doubt a man, as naked as a water-field worker – was looking wildly around the chamber and asking, "Where am I? Who are you people? Where are my clothes?"

"Did I do it?" Mana asked. "Did I bring Kisara back for you?"

"Kaiba?" The white-haired man was walking over to them, arms akimbo. "How did you get off the roof? Did you win? Why are you dressed that way? Who is that girl?"

"That doesn't sound like her," Mana said softly.

"No," Set said, helping her to sit up and then allowing her to lean against his chest as she recovered.

"Seto Kaiba, please explain what's going on!" the white haired man demanded.

"He knows your name!" Mana turned her head to look. "The – naked man!" She buried her face in Set's shoulder.

"Very funny! Of _course_ I know his name!" the white-haired man said; then frowned. "Wait – what the hell language am I speaking? I _know_ it's not anguish!"

Pharaoh Set was puzzled. Anguish? What sort of language was "anguish"? Or was it meant poetically?

"Maybe it's just a bad copy," Mana mumbled into his chest. "All I need to do is make some breasts, fix her voice, and take – those other parts off."

"Parts!" That finally got him to back away from them. "I prefer to remain intact, thank you. And as for breasts – well, as fond as I am of them, I prefer not to have a set of my own."

"He's not Kisara," Set said.

"Wait – I know this room. I've been here before! This is Shadi's doing, then!" The white haired man massaged his eyebrow. "But why did he take my eye away?" He pointed at them. "And how on earth did you get Yugi-boy's Millennium Puzzle, Kaiba? Did you win the duel? And that girl has the Millennium Ring? My research said that a classmate of Yugi's - Bakura-something - had it! I paid a lot of money for that research, I assumed it was _accurate!"_

Pharaoh Set had been getting the head-pain he had so often lately, as if an iron spike was being hammered into each side of his skull, but the mention of the Ring and Bakura galvanized him. "Shaada is dead," he said firmly, standing and helping Mana to her feet. "So is the tomb-despoiler." He picked up his scepter and straightened his cloak. "I am Pharaoh Set, of the Twin Kingdoms of Kemet." The stranger's eyes were almost comically wide now, but Set wasn't about to be fooled by the false display of innocence. "You will now tell me who _you_ are. If your answer does not please me, I will have you beheaded and your body tossed out into the desert. Vultures and jackals will scatter your bones."

"Now _that_ sounds more like my Seto," the white-haired man murmured, narrowing his eyes. When Set scowled, the man stood tall and announced proudly, "I am Maximillion Pegasus Crawford, of the Duelist Kingdom. Artist, inventor of the game of Duel Monsters, and amateur Egyptologist. And though I am at this moment still entirely naked, I am at your service." He bowed deeply.

Set looked at Mana, who shrugged and half-grinned.

"Clothe him," Set said. "Quickly."

.

After Mana tried several times to conjure clothes for the white-haired man – the final attempt of which left the stranger dripping in a sheet of green algae and weeds – she hurried out of the throne room saying, "I'll be right back."

Set folded his arms. This tall stranger wasn't Kisara, but he had the same pale skin and hair: perhaps he was from the same country? The thought eased his disappointment a little: if he could not have Kisara back, at least he could find out more about her homeland.

"Tell me again where you come from."

"From Duelist Kingdom. It's a island near San Francisco." The stranger tilted his head to the side and asked, "California? North America?"

"So you are from the north?"

The stranger opened his mouth, and although it looked as though he was going to disagree, or say many words, instead all he simply said, "Yes. The North."

"Are all the people of your country like you?"

"Oh dear no, I'm one of a –" He stopped, then asked, "Like me? Like me in what way?"

"Your hair is strange. White as a cloud, even though you are young."

"Oh." He gave a small shake of his head. "No, most are not like me. Or at least not without the aid of a hairdresser."

"I see." This stranger was no fool: he knew that his value was in the information that he possessed, and was being miserly in parceling it out. Set frowned. He hated sending people to the torturers, but he would not be denied in this.

The stranger, noting the frown, asked, "What are you going to do with me?" He shivered, shifting from foot to foot on the cold stone floor.

"I haven't decided yet." Set smiled coldly. "Tell me how you know of – "

Before he could finish, though, Mana ran back in, carrying a brown acolyte's robe and a pair of papyrus sandals. She handed the robe to the stranger, keeping her head high and her eyes fixed on his face.

"Thank you my dear," the white-haired man said as he took the clothing. "You are as kind as you are lovely."

Mana giggled, and though it was quite dark in the chamber, Set was certain she was blushing.

"So what should we call you?" Mana asked, looking away as the stranger pulled the robe over his head.

"Maximillion Pegasus Jacob Crawford," he said, dropping the sandals to the floor and inching his large feet into them carefully.

"That name is _very_ long," Mana said. "Please say it again so I can learn it?"

He repeated it patiently, and then, apparently because Mana struggled to pronounce the unfamiliar sounds, offered, "How about just _Pegasus?"_

"Pe-kha-su?" she said carefully.

"That's perfect." He smiled at her. "You remind me very much of – a very special someone."

"Oh?" Mana was smiling back. "A special someone? Who?"

Set, who had listened to this conversation between the stranger and his Sacred Guardian with increasing disapproval, was about to interrupt the flirty banter when Pekhasu said, "She is called The Dark Magician Girl."

Mana gasped. "How – how do you know my _ka_?"

"Your soul _?_ " Pekhasu sounded confused.

"Yes," Set said, seizing the opening, "How _do_ you know about her _ka_? And Shaada? And Bakura? And the Ring? And _my_ name?" He didn't ask what Pekhasu had meant when he'd referred to his eye: given all that Pekhasu had said already, Set felt certain that he'd meant _The_ _Eye_. If this stranger was somehow connected to Aknadin, or worse, to the Great Priest of Darkness, then there might be a danger to Duau, the current Guardian of the Eye.

"I'll happily answer all your questions as best I can," Pekhasu said, "but I'm beginning to think I've come a very long way indeed, and I suddenly find myself quite thirsty."

.

After directing the guards to escort the "guest" to his private audience chamber, Set took Mana aside. "Is there any spell you can do to determine if he's a threat?"

"Who?" Mana asked.

Gathering his patience, he said, "Pekhasu."

Mana started to laugh, "Oh, he's not – " but seeing Set's expression she became serious. "Yes, there are some spells. Nafattah can ask the Torc, too. But – "

"But?"

"The Ring would have _known_ if he was evil or dangerous," she said earnestly. "It would have warned us as soon as he appeared."

"Perhaps, but we have to be sure," Set said. He needed to make her understand his concerns. "Surely you've noticed how hard he is trying to charm us, Mana? Why would he do that, unless it is to distract us from asking how a stranger knows so much about us? He mentioned your _ka_ and the Sacred items: how would he know of these unless he was one of Zorukh's worshippers?"

"Horakhti destroyed – "

"We have to be _sure_ , Mana. Our country is still bruised and bleeding. And I – " he found himself in desperation voicing a thought he had avoided – "I am not as powerful a pharaoh as Atem was. If Zorukh rose again, even with the gods at my side I'm not sure that we could push the darkness back again."

"No, that's not – "

 _"Please_ , Mana." He could not bear her pity, and was grateful that she did not know his deepest shame: that he had not yet tried to summon the Gods because he was afraid that he would fail.

"Of course," she whispered.

Set was confused. Why did she look so sad? Didn't she understand that suspicion was the prudent course?

.

As Mana went to gather her spell books and awaken the Sacred Guardian of the Torc – at least it was almost dawn – Pharaoh Set hurried through the hallways of the palace to his rooms.

Pekhasu was standing near the window, studying an unrolled papyrus in the dim pre-dawn light.

"What are you doing?" Set asked sharply. He noticed a tray of food on the table, but the seal on the jar of beer was intact, and the loaf of bread was unbroken. "I thought you wanted food and drink?"

"I do," Pekhasu said, "I'm both parched and famished, but it's considered rude in my country to start eating before everyone has arrived. Is it not so here?" He smiled and looked inquisitively at the doorway. "Will that sweet girl be joining us? Mana, you called her?"

"No, she has duties," Set said. He pulled the papyrus away from Pekhasu and re-rolled it.

The look that Pekhasu gave him was odd: part disbelief, part knowing leer. _A smirk of the eyes_ , his grandmother would have called it.

He didn't like it.

"So it's just the two of us?" Pekhasu's voice was low and soft. "How very … _intriguing_. Whatever shall we do to pass the time?"

Set raised an eyebrow. Certainly he couldn't think –

"I mean," Pekhasu said quickly, seeming to realize that he had gone too far, "You're a pharaoh. I would have expected burly guards to be … _guarding_ you at all times."

"I can call for them."

"No," Pekhasu said, then, with a deep bow, "No. You must forgive me, your highness. I'm still struggling to understand how I got here."

It was odd, how someone could be both so irritating and so charming.

Pekhasu motioned to the tray. "Shall I do the honors?"

"If you like." Set took two drinking cups and a small ornamental dagger from a wooden chest, then offered them to Pekhasu.

The white-haired man took them slowly, saying as he set the cups down, "You're very trusting, pharaoh."

"Should I not be?" Set asked. He folded his arms, his fingertips brushing the much larger – and not at all ornamental – dagger hidden in his belt.

Pekhasu shook his head as he cut through the waxed papyrus sealing the jar of beer. "It's _astounding._ You sound just like him. Gruff and unyielding and completely humorless."

"Who?"

"A young man I know," Pekhasu said, pouring. "You two are so alike it's as if you were twins."

Set had the feeling that he was about to remember something that he had forgotten, something exciting and very important, but the thought swooped and flew away before he could catch it.

Pekhasu handed him a cup. "And yet, I suspect that you have many interesting differences." Pekhasu sipped the beer, then put it down, wrinkling his nose as he used the dagger to cut a wedge of bread.

"The beer – it's not to your liking?"

"I'm not accustomed to the taste," Pekhasu said, taking a small bite of bread. "I usually drink wine. Or fruit juice."

"Fruit juice," Set repeated, smiling down into his cup. What a strange man, to prefer such a beverage. "Would fig juice do?"

"Fig juice? I suppose."

They stood eating and drinking and listening to the birds outside the window cheerfully announcing the impending arrival of dawn. It was very peaceful, until a faint _clap-clap-clap-clap_ noise gradually interrupted, growing louder and louder until finally Mana and Nafattah appeared in the doorway, out of breath.

 _"I can't believe it!"_ Pekhasu said, sounding amazed. " _Ishizu?_ "

Surprised, Set glanced at him, then asked Mana, "Well?"

"I tried everything," she panted. "Everything is _fine. There is nothing."_

"I see," Set said. "Nafattah?"

The tall dark-haired woman standing next to Mana was looking at Pekhasu, who was clasping his hands and staring at her rapturously. "Yes," she said, turning her head toward Set. "I saw some things about that man. But nothing … dangerous." She pressed her lips together, and seemed to be stifling laughter.

"And I'd recognize that dulcet voice anywhere!" Pekhasu said with an unmanly squeal of joy, rushing to Nafattah and clasping her hands. "It's so _good_ to see a familiar – " His face suddenly became serious, and he let go of Nafattah's hands and stepped back. "My apologies, madam … you're not … I mistook you for another. But I see now: your eyes are lighter, more chalcedony than malachite, and your skin is darker. Cinnamon. Fragrant and delicious."

"I told you," Mana said smugly to Nafattah. "Didn't I tell you?"

Nafattah nodded slowly, apparently mesmerized by Pekhasu's words.

"What is he talking about?" Set asked, irritated. "Does he think she's Isis?"

Mana shrugged. "He called her by some other name."

"Enough foolishness!" Set slammed his hand on the table, startling the other three.

"My apologies," Pekhasu said, turning from Nafattah. "I mistook this lovely woman for a friend." He folded his arms and his face was serious and unsmiling. "So now that your magician and your oracle have pronounced me not guilty or not demonic or not evil or … _whatever_ you thought I was, perhaps you will tell me exactly where I am, and how I came to be here?" For the first time since he had arrived his voice was cold, almost commanding.

 _Is this his true self at last?_ Set wondered. He nodded at Mana, who then started to explain the spells that had allowed her to travel the River of Time in search of Kisara.

"I see. And what is Kisara?"

"She was – " Mana started to say.

'"She was a woman I loved," Set said.

Pekhasu looked at him, and his face softened a little. "Ah … so that is why," he said, "you used such dangerous magic." He nodded slowly. "I am sure I would have done the same, if I had the skill to cast such spells." He looked away from them and said pensively, "A beautiful garden in your soul, now a dark, empty wasteland."

The four of them stood in awkward, unhappy silence.

And then the mood was gone. "So how did you get _me?"_ _Pekhasu asked._

"Well," Mana fidgeted. "I saw Atem – "

"Atem?"

"Previous pharaoh," Set told him.

" – and Set, and I should have _known_ something was wrong when I saw them in those strange clothes, but when I saw Kisara's hair – "

"Hair?"

"Long, same color as yours," Set said.

" – all I could think of was to hurry up and do the spell … " Mana's lip trembled.

"Ah …" Pekhasu said, beginning to smile. "You saw all that, but you got _me_ instead? That's very interesting." He rubbed his chin and chuckled. "Yes, very interesting indeed. I do believe it's starting to make sense now …. Well, let's do a test, shall we? Do you have some blank paper? – er, papyrus? And some ink?" he asked. "And a – whatever you write with?"

Set took papyrus and a split reed from his old High Priest coffer and handed them to Pekhasu as Mana moved the tray of food. After closing his eyes for a few moments, Pekhasu dipped the reed in the ink and then began to make lines and shapes on the papyrus, an odd drawing that suddenly transformed into the roof of a great stone temple. As they watched, amazed, Pekhasu then made to appear on this roof – even though they were strangely dressed – both the past and the current Pharaoh. Between them was Kisara's White Dragon _ka_.

Mana gasped. "This is – this is as if you have seen through my eyes!" She reached out, timidly touching the papyrus. "What kind of magic is this? They almost seem ready to move and speak!"

"Only the magic of three-point perspective, I'm afraid," Pekhasu said. "Which won't be invented for at least thirty-five centuries or so, if I remember my dynasties and my art history." He rolled up the papyrus. "If I haven't already thrown everything off by horribly violating a time-paradox or something."

Set looked at Mana and Nafattah for clarification, but clearly they didn't understand Pekhasu's words either.

Pekhasu held up the rolled papyrus. "Mana, I think you went ... _upstream_ and not downstream. Into the future instead of the past."

Mana's eyes got big. "Did I?"

Set was beginning to understand. "Didn't you tell me that the current was very strong? Swimming upstream, it would be."

"So who were those people I saw, if not Atem and Set? and why was Kisara's _ka_ there?"

"What is this _ka_ you all keep mentioning?" Pekhasu asked.

"The _ka_ is essence of a person's soul," Nafattah said.

"Oh," Pekhasu said. _"That_ ka. So that's how it's pronounced."

"Kisara's _ka_ ," Set said, his throat tightening a little, "was a white dragon."

"And _it_... looked like the Blue Eyes I just drew, you say?" Pekhasu's voice trailed off. He tapped the rolled papyrus against his lips, then said thoughtfully, "In the future, where I came from, a boy named Yugi wears that puzzle." He pointed to Set's Sacred Emblem. "And I gather he looks like your Atem. There is also another boy who looks just like you, Pharaoh. His name is Kaiba Seto, and he commands white dragons."

"Wait! He was here once, too!" Mana said, "Don't you remember, Set? He fought with Atem against Zorukh!"

And then, as the memory that had been eluding him finally landed, Set _did_ remember. He and Kisara had become dragons and gone to help Atem fight Zorukh, but to their surprise had been joined by a third dragon, silent and savage. The three dragons and Atem had fought with all their might until they had been pushed into blackness. Awakening only after Zorukh was defeated, it had never occurred to Set to ask Atem about the third dragon.

Not that there had been time.

Pekhasu broke into his reverie. "Kaiba and Yugi were in the midst of … a game on the roof of my home just before I found myself here." He touched his eyebrow. "In the past. Which probably explains why I no longer have the eye."

"Eye?" Mana peered at him. "You … you _have_ both your eyes, Pekhasu."

"He means the Sacred Eye of the Guardian." It was all so confusing, this mirroring of their future and Pekhasu's past. The two iron spikes in Set's skull were being joined by their brothers. And sisters. And aunts. And uncles.

Nafattah clapped her hands. "La, It's too early in the morning for such a twisty story. Let's have foamy beer and then find some honey cakes!"

Just at the moment that Set was thinking that the new Guardian of the Torc was nothing like Isis had been, Pekhasu murmured, "No, you're not like Ishizu _at all_."

Set had a feeling that he could learn to like this strange man.

.

.

_._

_._

NOTES:

A huge thanks once again to my beta readers **Dark Rabbit** and **Rroselavy** , who poke me with sticks when I get lazy or sloppy (and I luff them muchly for it).

More author's notes – including my idiosyncratic violations of canon – are at my Dreamwidth and my LiveHournal (URLs in my profile).

.

(06) 4 September 2011 ~ merge dialogue paragraphs


	3. Prisoners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nafattah has visions, Pekhasu meets the Guardians, Kheffrey makes moves, and Set staggers a bit.

.

.

"So ... as delighted as I am to have met you all … " Pekhasu paused, clearly choosing his words carefully. "Yugi and Kaiba were part of a – a great competition, with champions from many lands, that I was hosting when you inadvertently brought me here. How quickly can I return to my tournament?"

Everyone looked at Mana.

"I ... I'm not sure," she said. "Soon?"

"You don't know how to send me back, do you?" Pekhasu asked.

"Well, no." Mana frowned. "I didn't translate that page in the spellbook, because we wouldn't have sent Kisara back. If she had been here instead of you."

"And that … brings up a delicate matter that concerns me. I hope you'll pardon my saying so bluntly, but your accuracy doesn't inspire confidence." His unspoken inference was clear: _You didn't do the bringing spell correctly, you're unlikely to be successful at sending me back._

"Well … it's the first time I did that spell on a person!" Mana was turning red. "It's not my fault that so many people where you came from have white hair!"

Pekhasu's reply was sharp with accusation. "Let me make sure I understand: not only do you lack any way of fixing _your_ mistake _,_ but you blame _me_ for it? As if I _chose_ to be pulled off my island and dragged fifty centuries into the past?"

"Yelling at me," Mana snapped back, "isn't much help!"

Pharaoh Set had no patience for bickering. "Whatever was intended," he said loudly enough to silence them, "it is hardly relevant to finding a remedy."

"I'll find a way," Mana mumbled, "but it could take time. And I'll need time to practice, too, so that I do everything right. With no _mistakes_."

"Understood," Set said. When Pekhasu scoffed, Set added, "Insult and recrimination accomplish nothing. I do not tolerate them." The warning in his tone was clear.

Pekhasu, his mouth set in a thin line, nevertheless nodded.

"Now," Set rubbed his temples: the iron spikes had brought neighboring clans. "Even though Pekhasu may be gone by nightfall, I don't wish to keep his presence here a secret from the other Guardians."

"A special guest," Nafattah said dreamily, her eyes unfocused, "sleeps for three nights in three beds. Red tears, green laughter, blue blood of three." She put her hand over her mouth, shocked at what she'd said.

"What?" Set asked, simultaneous with Pekhasu asking, "Guest? Couldn't I be an ambassador? On a diplomatic mission? Guest sounds so … _pedestrian_." and Mana fretting, "Blood? Is the Pharaoh in danger?"

"Stop!" Set commanded, and there was silence. "Nafattah, what did you see?"

She shook her head. "It ... it wasn't clear." She closed her eyes, put one hand on the Torc. "There is … no danger. Only sadness. And joy. Alternating. Cresting and receding. Waves on a shore."

Set suppressed his frustration. He had never yet found the Torc to provide anything useful – or even comprehensible. It was all vague poetry.

Pekhasu said, "Three nights in three different beds? Sounds like fun."

"Enough," Set said. "If you wish to present yourself as an ambassador, Pekhasu, pick a country whose history and geography you know well, as my Keeper of the Scales will be eager to converse with you. He will have many questions."

"Questions?"

"Many," Set assured him. "He pursues facts as relentlessly as an anteater claws into a mound to lap up insects, and loves his maps and scrolls as if they were his children. His scholarship is renowned."

"I see," Pekhasu said. "How … _meticulous_ of him. Well, if that's the case … hm. The more questions I answer, the greater chance something I say will accidentally kill a butterfly or turn me into my own grandfather or change the outcome of World War II." Seeing the other three's puzzled reaction to these comments, Pekhasu waved his hand. "Please excuse my silliness. I concede to your wisdom: introduce me as your guest."

"A prudent choice, " Set said.

Pekhasu then turned to Mana. "I don't know what came over me; I was terribly rude to you just now. Can you find it in your heart to forgive?"

"Of course!" Her lower lip wibbled a bit. "I'm sorry too. I haven't stopped to think how scary this must be for you."

"Well, actually I'm not that – " Pekhasu started to say, then he stopped. "Yes. It's dreadfully upsetting. Thank you for being so understanding."

"We'll need to find him more suitable attire," Nafattah said. "Perhaps among the many unopened gift coffers in the Royal Treasury?"

Set had to agree: the rough brown robe which Mana had found to cover Pekhasu's nakedness was more suitable for a tanner or a baker, not an honored guest. "I will allow it. But first I require an explanation."

"Oh?"

"In your – time?" He glanced at Mana to confirm that this was the correct word, and she gave a tiny nod. "You were the possessor of the Eye. Tell me how you came to have it."

"Ah." Pekhasu wrung his hands, but met Set's probing gaze directly. "It's a complicated story."

"The day has many hours." Set folded his arms.

"I was betrothed," Pekhasu said. "To a woman who was my very soul. I lost her on our wedding day."

 _So this is why he spoke so eloquently of an empty place in the heart,_ Set thought. The hollow pain in Pekhasu's eyes was familiar too, the image of what Set saw in his own mirror at times.

"In my grief I traveled the world searching for the means to bring her back. I am – was – willing to do anything to be with her again."

"Bring her back?" Mana asked. "Was she abducted?"

"From the dead," Pekhasu said.

Nafattah gave a gasp. "Necromancy is an abomination against the gods!"

"His customs are not ours," Set said, feeling a momentary outrage himself – but then he realized how hypocritical that was, for he too had been willing to use magic to be with his beloved again. "Go on."

"In time my searching brought me to your land, where I met a man named Shadi."

" _Shaada?_ " Nafattah asked.

"Shush, let him finish," chided Mana.

"He warned me not to continue my search, but I was not dissuaded. I followed him into an underground chamber, where … " Pekhasu stopped, though whether he was struggling with memories or to choose his words Set could not tell. "He showed me many things – magical battles fought with creatures that came from stone tablets  – "

Now it was Mana's turn to gasp, but Set put out his hand to silence her.

"He said that I was to be punished for violating the sacred tomb, and said the Eye would pass judgment." Pekhasu gave a bitter chuckle. "When it didn't kill me, he said I was meant to have it. I think he was rather surprised." He rubbed his eyebrow. "It feels so _odd_ to be without it. I almost don't feel like myself."

"But why was it taken from you? Is it a judgment?"

"I cannot say," Pekhasu said. "I suppose it's more likely because it has yet to be given to me; an event that happens, as Mana might put it, several thousand years upstream."

Set nodded. "Your explanation satisfies me: you may go. Mana and Nafattah will find you garments befitting your status as an honored guest of the Pharaoh."

.

.

So it was that later that morning, Pekhasu – now dressed in a long sleeveless robe of gossamer linen – accompanied Pharaoh Set, Mana, and Nafattah through the corridors of the palace toward the Chamber of Audience.

"I didn't expect it to be so … _sheer_ ," Pekhasu said to Mana. "None of you are wearing anything this see-through."

Set glanced at him, amused to see that this man – who earlier had expressed lascivious relish at the prospect of occupying a different bed every night – now appeared to be surreptitiously holding the ends of his sash in place as he walked, so as to conceal the front of his loincloth.

"You look very elegant," Nafattah said. "Though I do wish we could have found more jewelry for you to wear."

"It's a finely-woven garment," Set said dryly, "of the style worn by non-combatant nobility. I'd even say," and here he couldn't resist a small jab, "it's worthy of an _ambassador_."

"Very funny," Pekhasu murmured, but a small smile was lurking.

And then they were there.

As Pharaoh Set entered the room, guards snapped to attention. Four men in flowing robes – the remaining Sacred Guardians – stood talking quietly in the center of the room.

"This is Pekhasu, our honored guest," Pharaoh Set announced. "He has come to share arcane knowledge with the Sacred Guardian of the Ring. Approach and greet him."

The four men hurried over.

"Aknetos, Keeper of the Key."

A slender young man with almond-shaped eyes and high cheekbones bowed to Pekhasu. "I welcome the esteemed visitor." His voice was low and musical.

"Enchant é ," Pekhasu said, inclining his head. "You are a veritable _kouros_ , Aknetos, and make me itch for my charcoals."

With a small nod and a puzzled look, Aknetos backed away.

"Khinubis, Keeper of the Scales."

"I am honored," a bearded older man said. "Will you be staying long? I have never seen your like, and am eager to learn what far off-country you hail from."

"If Mana can spare him," Set said smoothly, keeping a solemn expression as he saw Pekhasu's sudden discomfiture.

"If they will be working in the Library," Khinubis said, "I could send a scribe there with a list of my questions. Perhaps Pekhasu could dictate answers in his spare moments?"

"I will permit it, as long as it does not interfere with their discussions."

As Khinubis backed away a third man approached. Wolfish and gray-haired, he needed little introduction; the golden Eye gleamed beneath his shaggy brow.

"Duau," Set said.

As the current and future Guardian of the Eye silently stood looking at each other, Set could feel the hairs on his arm prickle and rise, as if powerful magic was gathering in the room.

"We have never met before this moment," Duau said at last, "and yet I know you."

Astonished, Pekhasu replied, "I feel the same."

After a speculative look at Set, Duau turned and walked back to the center of the room to stand beside Aknetos and Khinubis.

"And finally, my High Priest, Kheffry," Set said. "Keeper of the Rod."

"I am at your service, beautiful traveler." Kheffry bowed low. "If it is permitted," Kheffry moved closer, his eyes in constant motion over Pekhasu's body, "might I send you some small gifts before you depart?"

"I ... suppose." Pekhasu was blushing. Very noticeable on someone so pale.

"Wonderful. Perhaps we could even dine together this evening? I would be honored to share our country's finest delicacies with you."

Set was taken aback. He had never heard Kheffry speak to anyone thus, had never seen such a look in his eyes ... was his tight-boweled prig of a High Priest smitten?

Mana stepped in.

"Sorry, Pekhasu is spoken for tonight – he and I have a lot of work to do."

"Of course," Kheffry said politely, his face closing off and concealing his disappointment. "Tomorrow night, perhaps?"

.

.

As Mana and Nafattah took the honored guest off to the library, Set turned to the business of the kingdom. Petitions, reports on grain yields, a diplomatic inquiry from Persia … it was all routine until Aknetos, Duau, and Kheffrey approached to brief him on the case of Mihakrates, a young man accused of mutilating and murdering several women.

"Is it proven?" Set asked.

"He was caught in the midst of his latest crime by the city guards," Kheffrey said. "And bragged of killing dozens more."

"Then why is his case brought before us?" Set asked. "His bones should already have been picked clean."

"There is disagreement among us," Aknetos said.

Kheffrey glanced at Aknetos and then said to Set, "The _ka_ of such is often of use."

"And was it?" Set wondered why the matter was being brought to his attention. It should have been a straightforward – remove the _ka_ , execute the murderer.

Duau shook his head. "We … have never seen anything like it. The most hideous … " He shuddered.

Aknetos put his hand on Duau's shoulder, then said to Set, "Usually in such cases, once the _ka_ is excised, the wretch's torment is cured. But this boy … when _ka_ was taken from him, it had no subduing effect. Nor have the healers been successful in treating him. We have brought this matter before you because I believe that the correct course of action is to give Mihakrates a swift death, but High Priest Kheffrey does not concur."

"He may yet yield something useful," Kheffrey said.

"How can you continue to say so? _"_ Aknetos said to Kheffrey, and Set saw a rare flare of anger in the Key-keeper's gentle eyes. "What you have taken from him are not the usual beasts of _ka._ Such horrors cannot be used in honorable battle!"

"Beasts?" Set was astonished. "He had more than one _ka_?"

"Yes," Kheffrey said, turning to avoid Aknetos' glare. "Four so far, and Duau has sensed that there are more. They may not be _honorable_ , but they are very very powerful."

Set felt a chill of fear. Was this Mihakrates another like Bakura? Possessor of a second Diabound, or some other, even more monstrous _ka –_ and if so, what was the cause? Another secret of Aknadin's, perhaps a second, as-yet unrevealed Kul Elna? "How is it possible?" he asked Kheffry.

"I do not know," Kheffry said coldly, "nor do I care. My only wish is to drain that degenerate, unholy creature until only an empty husk remains. Until not even starving hyenas will come near it."

This viciousness shocked Set more deeply than anything he'd yet heard. "No," he said. "I forbid it. Let it be known," he proclaimed, "that until such time as we have consulted the council of priests, no further action shall be taken against the prisoner Mihakrates." To underscore this he said to the captain of the royal bodyguard, "Let no one near the prisoner until I have determined his fate."

The final petition was a request, by the families of Mihakrates' victims, to witness the murderer's slow death by torture. As Aknetos and Duau tried to calm the dozens of clamoring people that poured into the chamber of audience, Kheffrey slipped from the room.

Set wondered where he was going, but he supposed he would find out soon enough.

.

. 

It was late afternoon before each of the grieving parents and husbands had prostrated themselves and begged for vengeance. As listened to his Guardians reassure them Set felt increasingly numb, as if his veins were filling with the poison of a thousand adders. Each of these people had lost a daughter, a sister, a wife, who were as precious to them as Kisara had been to him, and like Pekhasu, like even himself, they raged against that loss.

He had told Mana – was it less than a day before? – that as Pharaoh his duty was the welfare of the people, but how was that accomplished? His father, Aknadin, had slaughtered a village to make the Sacred Items; had tortured criminals to bring forth their _ka_ for the tablets; had attacked his own son to force Kisara to show the White Dragon. Should Set now shield the monster who had killed their loved ones, because inside that monster might be a weapon that could be used to protect the entire country in a time of war?

Is that what he needed to do to rule? Become a gilded, heartless statue?

_Atem had not._

Despite the teaching, Set knew he was not divine. He did not have the power to take dead pieces and breathe life back into them; he was only a man.

.

. 

His last task of the day was to meet with the royal architects to review various ongoing tomb construction projects, but first he detoured to the library to check on Mana's progress.

She wasn't there, although the massive reading table in the center was piled with scroll cases and a sheaf of magical diagrams annotated in her sloppy scrawl. A scribe sitting patiently at a low table in a shadowed corner said that Mana had left a short while before, to join Nafattah and Pekhasu in viewing the local sights.

"I see." He didn't see that there was much to show, other than the palace: he hardly supposed they'd ride out to the fields or the dam.

Or the Kul Elna ruins.

As he turned to leave, Set saw the clothing that Pekhasu had worn that morning folded neatly on a shelf. Next to the clothes was a small guilt coffer. Curious, he opened it: inside was a folded piece of papyrus, upon which was written, in the red ink that only the high priests were permitted to use, a poem comparing Pekhasu to a graceful white moth, a cloud, the moon, and a purebred stallion. There was also a necklace – a strand of tiny beetle-shaped ivory beads supporting a faience butterfly.

Set sighed and went to his meeting.

.

. 

It was night when he finally finished with the architects, and though he was exhausted he decide to looked in on Mana again.

She was bent over the table, chewing her lip as she compared the spell-book to a scroll, looking haggard despite the soft light of the oil-lamps. As soon as she noticed Set watching her she hurried over, pushing him out the door and down the dark hallway. "I don't want to wake him," she said.

"Who?"

"Pekhasu."

"Our honored guest is sleeping on the floor of the library?" Set rubbed his forehead wearily. "Did you finish the returning spell? I heard you went sight-seeing."

"That stinking tattle-tale scribe," Mana groused. "No, I don't have it yet – but yes, I took a break. I needed the air, my head was about to explode from trying to translate the extra pages."

"And Pekhasu removed his clothing for that?"

"Yes and no."

" _Mana …_ "

"Let me start at the beginning. I have to tell a story my own way, you know that," she said. The darkness somehow made her sound even bossier than usual.

Set exhaled noisily. "Proceed."

"Several times since this morming," Mana began, "Pekhasu has asked if there was anything else that he could wear. He _said_ that he was worried that the fabric of his robe was too 'delicate' and that it would be easily ruined, and said that something 'sturdier' would be better ... though I think he was just asking that – "

"Because he is not accustomed to our style of dress. Yes, yes. Why is that important?"

"Well, in the afternoon a messenger came."

'Khinubis's scribe."

"No, the scribe came later. _First_ was a messenger from Kheffrey, with a present for Pekhasu."

So _that's_ where Kheffry had gone. "You saw what was in the box?"

"Yes." Mana giggled. "I had to translate the poem for Pekhasu, because he couldn't read the script."

"And?"

"And then we started talking about Kheffrey, and Pekhasu said he was surprised that we allowed men to show affection for other men, and how he wished – "

"Mana," Set said with his last thread of patience. " _I just want to know why he is sleeping on the floor._ "

"Oh right. Well, after Nafattah brought _sturdier_ clothes we went riding. When we came back Khinubis' scribe was waiting with a big list of questions. Pekhasu gave him a story about it being forbidden to talk about his homeland, but then the evening meal came, and I think the scribe was hungry because he suggested that maybe instead of going through Khinubis's questions he could document the spell that brought Pekhasu here. For historical reasons."

Set nodded.

"So while they ate I started explaining how I found the two spells, and had the idea to combine them, and how I practiced bringing back copies of beetles and a birds and that old cat. I didn't think that Pekhasu was paying much attention, because he was flirting with Nafattah, but then all of a sudden he said  _'What do you mean I'm a copy?'_ And while I was explaining it he got so … _angry_."

It seemed to Set as if Mana was choking a little on her words. — almost as if she was crying.

"He kept asking why I was bothering to look for a way to send him back," Mana continued. "He said he was dispensable, that killing him wouldn't even be murder because he wasn't real. I tried to calm him down, said he could stay with us as long as he wanted, but he asked for wine, and once we brought some he started drinking it, undiluted! He drank almost the whole jar before he fell over. Nafattah and I took a rug and some pillows from the reading room, and we rolled him on top of them so that he won't be sore when he wakes up."

"I see." Set marched down the hall and in the library.

When he lifted the oil lamp to illuminate Pekhasu's gently snoring form he noticed two things. First, Mana's face was, in fact, wet with tears; and second, the rug and pillows Pekhasu slept on were dark, dark red.

_First night, red tears._

.

.

  
NOTES: Thank you to **Dark Rabbit** , beta and sounding board _extraordinaire_.

More detail notes, including explanations of the Guardian names, are at my DreamWidth and LiveJournal (URLs in profile).

P.S. I like mangoes. And reviews.

  
21 Nov 2014


	4. Transference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pharaoh Set dreams, halts Kheffrey's torture of Mihakrates, indulges Mana, and learns some things about Kaiba - and Pekhasu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I rarely post warnings, but I will say this: in this chapter, if you don't like what you're reading and don't have faith in where I am leading you, **just stop.**

.

**.**

Each time he drifted off, he dreamed the same: he was alone in a vast flooded field, rich with heavy green stalks of grain. A speck of light from his chest ascended and grew, turning into the sun as it rose. He wanted to fly after it, but when he held up his arms they were bare, human arms, not falcon's wings. As soon as he had this thought something seized the sun, pulling it from the sky and covering the land with darkness. He splashed through the field after the dwindling spark, emerging onto a riverbank. In the middle of the river stood Zorukh, the Great Darkness, on an island of corpses. In one hand Zorrukh crushed the sun; in the other a silvery orb with a white-haired woman trapped inside. Infernal flames spread over the land, baking the river to ash, blackening the fields.

And then he would wake, his heart pounding. He had not saved Kisara, he had not saved the sun, he had not saved his people. Ashamed of his inadequacy, he'd clutch his sheets and stare at the tiny flame of his lamp until sleep dragged him under again.

When morning finally came, he was weak with relief.

.

**.**

The morning's duties were mercifully light. A delegation of ambassadors from an eastern kingdom had come to offer gifts, praise, and the vaguest of assurances that their borders were immoveable. The ambassadors from the East were long-winded, taking a thousand words to say what could be said with three, and so it was past the Hour of No Shadows when they finally left, crawling backwards out of the room on their hands and knees. Set then went out on the balcony to give the people his blessing – not that it was worth anything – and then withdrew to a private inner courtyard for his noon meal.

The dread that had clung to him all morning was wearying, and so when Mana came into the courtyard he beckoned her over. "Join me."

She sat and nibbled a small piece of bread, frowning.

'What is it?"

"Pekhasu. He slept on the library floor all night," she said. "But now that he's awake, he might as well still be sleeping."

Set waited for more.

"Do you know what he's done all morning? Stared at the floor. I can't get him to talk about anything."

"I would think you'd appreciate the silence," Set said.

Mana shook her head. "All day yesterday he told stories, about his childhood and his family, about his wife and his Seto, about his painting and his house and his servants. They were interesting and funny. It wasn't distracting at all! The stories made me laugh, and looking for counter-spells went _so_ much faster. Today … he's quiet and sad, and it makes me feel like there's a big stone tied around my neck pulling me to the bottom of the ocean. It's _horrible_."

"He wants to return to his own time. His home, his people." Set suppressed a smile: it seemed that Pekhasu's resolve not to discuss his own time had faded.

"Yes," Mana said, "but I think knowing that he's a copy of another Pekhasu bothers him more. I told him that even if I couldn't figure out how to send him back, we would love to have him stay. That it didn't matter if he was a copy, because he was _our_ copy, the only Pekhasu we would ever know." She sniffled. "It didn't help."

"He feels of no value here," Set said. "Less than a man." He folded his arms: clearly Mana would not be buoying his spirits this day. "Have you found how to send him back?"

"I'm working on this spell," Mana said, "to sort of ... " she pressed her hands together, palm to palm. "Put the copy back into the original. To reverse the spell that brought him here." She sighed. "The other plan is to go back and talk myself out of copying him in the first place."

Set raised an eyebrow. "Powerful magic." He hoped that he didn't sound too skeptical.

She bit her lip. "I'm still working on it. I just wish there was some way to make him happy in the meantime. I _hate_ it when people are miserable."

"You will find something, I'm sure of it," Set said as Mana stood to go. "Ask the Chamberlain to find him a room. Honored guests of the Pharaoh do not sleep on the library floor."

.

**.**

Mana returned a short while later, elated, to report that a small room in the north watchtower was being set up as a sleeping chamber for Pekhasu. Set was not surprised to see that she had brightened; he had early learned that Mana's mood was as changeable as a windswept sky.

"I think he'll love it," she said, hopping in place. "I'm so happy I remembered what he said yesterday about how good north light is to paint by."

Set could not see how light could differ by direction – all light was the gift of the Sun – but then Pekhasu was a man who said many strange things. As Mana went on about how Pekhasu made his art on skins and papyrus instead of stone, Set nodded, pretending to listen, as he thought on more important matters.

Nafattah's prophecy said that Pekhasu would spend three nights in three different beds. It was obvious that Pekhasu's second night would have to be spent in a different bed – he could not be allowed to sleep on the library floor, after all – but was Nafattah's prophecy coming to be because it was _true_ , or because they were all just ants, blindly fulfilling what the prophecy suggested?

Either way, "blue blood of three" was worrisome.

Mana had stopped talking, and was looking at him with exasperation. "So do you want to hear it, or not?"

Set nodded, "Proceed."

"It's partly Nafattah's idea, but we've talked it over and we're sure it will work."

"So let it be done."

"Well," Mana looked shifty. "It's … a little unusual. And only you can do it."

"What do you mean? I am not a magician."

As she explained, emotions warred in his breast. His first reaction was anger – even had he not been Pharaoh, what Mana was suggesting was ridiculous, even demeaning. Anger was followed swiftly by discomfort, as he wondered how the two had even thought to _suggest_ such a thing – unless Nafattah had had a vision that she hadn't told him of. His face reddened as he considered the possible content of such a vision. Opposed to this was his pride, his sacred duty to ease the travails of the people under his protection – and, to be truthful, he had a small curiosity about the outcome should Mana and Nafattah's plan succeed. As if all this was not enough, a lone archer wove through the battle, piercing him with the fear that performing this action with Pekhasu would somehow sever him from Kisara's memory.

No; that last was not possible. No one would ever eclipse her.

"Gather what is required," he said. "Write out the words. I will consider it."

And then, before he could take it back, he hurried out of the courtyard.

.

**.**

He never knew what guided his feet to the dungeon: perhaps it was simply that, being in turmoil, he unthinkingly sought one whose mind was even more muddied.

Although he hadn't been to the dungeon since he became Pharaoh, there was no need to ask where Mihakrates was being kept: the corridor at the lowest level was heavily guarded.

"You have kept all from the prisoner?" he asked the captain of the guard.

"Yes, my Pharaoh," the man replied. "We have allowed no one to pass except the High Priest Kheffrey."

Set should have been angry, but there was nothing to be done. He strode down the passage: ahead of him he could hear echoes of Kheffrey, saying with fury, _"It will not stop until you tell me!"_

As he turned the corner he saw the High Priest, his teeth bared, pointing the Rod at the unseen prisoner. Scuffles and whimpers came from the prisoner's cell.

"Kheffrey!"

Kheffrey spun, lowering the Rod. "Pharaoh!" He bowed quickly, but not before Set noted his expression of fear – and resentment.

"What are you doing?" Set asked Kheffrey, then looked. The shackled man huddled, naked except for a leather hood that covered his entire head. The torchlight glinted on a dagger – its blade and hilt brown with drying blood – that he held loosely in one limp hand.

Kheffrey lifted his head. "What must be done to discover how he acquired his _ka_."

"No. This is finished." Set held out his hand. "Give it to me while I consider your punishment."

Kheffrey shoved the Rod at him. "You value a murdering, degenerate whore above your own High Priest? Do you know what this filth does in the marketplace?"

"I expect nothing from such as him. From you, I expect obedience and understanding," Set answered coldly. The Rod, which Set had not held since his ascension to Pharaoh, felt unusually heavy, even without the dagger that was usually concealed in its base.

Kheffrey bowed his head. "Forgive me."

Set turned to leave, but a movement from Mihakrates stopped him. Dropping the dagger, and kicking it away with a blood-webbed foot, the pathetic creature crawled toward Set as far as his chains allowed. "Let me touch it," he croaked. "Let it burn me to ash."

"Why?" Set asked.

"So I might die."

Set motioned to the guard to remove Mihakrates' hood. Kheffrey backed into the shadows.

Set was startled to see that the Greek had pale hair and eyes – very much like the thief Bakura had had. Was this how the gods marked those with the most powerful _ka_? Bakura, Kisara, this prisoner … Set wondered if the white-haired Pekhasu had a _ka_ – and if so, what it was.

Mihakrates, now staring, began to slowly lick blood from his arm. "So good to _eat_ ," he said, waggling his tongue. He put his hands between his legs. "From loins, lust," he said softly, seemingly lucid again. "From kisses, love; from breasts, milk." He shrieked, "They made us watch as they carved her back to play _senet!"_

Set couldn't move.

"Let me die!" Mihakrates raged. "I everywhere see their faces, tiny skulls split and rotting!" He reached for the Rod, straining at his chains. "Cut out the womb, let the seed fall on stone and salt, let us die sterile and barren!"

Set took a few steps toward Mihakrates and held out the Rod, expecting screams as the flames of judgment burned the eager hands reaching for death – but instead Set had a vision, an overwhelming blur of sight and sound, and he felt himself falling …

… and then Khinubis and Nafattah were suddenly there, holding him up, pulling him away. Set handed the Rod – its golden orb now darkened with Mihakrates' bloody handprints – back to Kheffrey. "Retrieve and purify the dagger that you have desecrated."

"What is to be done with him?" Nafattah asked.

Set, unsure if Kheffrey or the prisoner was meant, said simply, "I have not decided," then turned and wearily climbed the stairs out of the dungeon.

It felt as though the weight of all the palace, and all the lands surrounding it, was bearing down upon him. As much as it was his duty to bear it, he longed to escape. Was there, he wondered, another Set somewhere? a Set who served the country at Atem's side, who went home at night to embrace a living Kisara, her body soft and warm against his chest as they were surrounded by the litter of their playful blue-eyed children?

If there was, he hoped that this other Set appreciated how deeply blessed was his existence, and thanked the gods daily for the bounty of his life.

.

**.**

The Shrine of Wedju was as cold as the dungeon had been.

He sat at the tablet of the White Dragon and silently begged her forgiveness: for not protecting her from his father; for never giving her the happiness of marriage and children.

As he sat, dry-eyed and bereft, wishing for a sign that she had forgiven him, a small white butterfly alighted on his hand. It fluttered in front of him as he stood, and then flew out of the temple, pausing at each intersection as if leading him.

He followed, through the hallways and courtyards, up and down stairs, until he came to the library. 

Mana's table was piled with an even higher pile of scroll-cases and tomes.

"This Seto Pekhasu speaks of," he asked, after making sure that they two were alone, "was he the silent dragon who fought alongside us against Zorukh?"

"I don't know," Mana said. "That man was far away that day. But he did call the White Dragon." She asked gently, "Have you decided?"

Set watched as the butterfly landed on a blue cloak, then beat its wings slowly. "Yes," he said. "I will do it. Have you prepared what is needed?"

Mana handed him a scroll, and then, gently shooing the butterfly aside, she rolled a long, dark green tunic inside the blue cloak and held it out to him.

"No headdress?"

"No," Mana said. "He mentioned that in his time most men display their hair."

"Green clothing," he said, taking the bundle reluctantly.

"I know," Mana replied, and Set supposed she was thinking of Nafattah's prophecy as well. "But Pekhasu described the colors very clearly: _He wears dark garments as green as shadowed reeds, and over them a coat as blue as still water_."

"Take me to him."

.

**.**

While Mana stood guard on the stairs leading to the room in the watchtower, Set put on the strangely-colored garments and then re-read the lines that Mana had written out for him. When he had them memorized, he re-rolled the scrap of papyrus. "I am ready."

"You're not to be disturbed? By anyone? For any reason?" Mana asked, and Set was almost sure that there was a saucy twinkle in her eye. He nodded, his face once again burning with embarrassment. He stepped over the threshold into the antechamber of Pekhasu's room, and Mana shut the door noiselessly behind him.

Taking a deep breath, Set walked to the inner room. Pekhasu was sitting at a small table near the window, reading. At the sight of Set his eyes went wide in astonishment.

"You threatened my brother," Set proclaimed, "but even so, I, Kaiba Seto, cannot help but be drawn to your manly beauty and artistic talent! Pekhasu! Disrobe, for I have come to share your bed!" This last was delivered less convincingly than the first lines, but Set considered it an accomplishment that he had been able to say the words at all.

Pekhasu didn't move for long moments, and then he threw back his head and laughed, clapping. "Wonderful! Marvelous! Bravo!" Seeing Set's consternation, he rose from his chair came across the room, putting his hands on Set's shoulders. "Thank you. I am … deeply touched that you and Mana would go to such lengths to cheer me. No one has ever cosplayed for me before."

Set wondered how Pekhasu knew that it had been Mana's idea. "Is it not an adequate imitation?"

"It's a _wonderful_ imitation, and _quite_ an imaginative recreation of what Seto wore at Duelist Kingdom: I had no idea ancient dyes were so vivid." He took his hands from Set's shoulders. "Almost as good an imitation as I am." He turned away and went back to his table. "Sit with me, why don't you? Share my repast."

As Set sat down Pekhasu rested his chin on his hand and smiled at him fondly. "So why did you agree to do this?"

"Mana said that you were unhappy," Set replied. "She believed that this would make you happy. That made _her_ happy."

"So you did it to make Mana happy?" Pekhasu asked, still smiling. "Are you sweet on her?"

"Sweet?" Set asked as he poured himself a cup of beer.

"Do you cherish her?"

Set frowned. "We _understand_ each other. She grieves for Mahaado as I grieve for Kisara."

"Was Mahaado her lover?"

"No, her teacher. The former Keeper of the Ring. A powerful magician." Set saw no point in mentioning that it had always seemed to him that Mana had inappropriately strong feelings for her teacher, and that – unlike Isis – she had never been able to see that Mahaado's own heart was directed elsewhere.

"Ah," Pekhasu said. " The sting of unrequited love ." He sighed. "Cupid's arrows fly where they will."

"Arrows? What have archers to do with it?"

"Cupid is … a symbol of the capriciousness of love," Pekhasu explained. "I suppose that the Greeks haven't invented him yet."

Mention of Greece made Set think of the wretched prisoner far below.

"What's made you so somber all of a sudden?" Pekhasu asked.

"It is of no import." He was here to amuse Pekhasu, and he doubted that Mihakrates' tale would contribute much laughter to that goal.

"Tell me anyhow."

"There is a man in the dungeons, a young Greek," Set said carefully, "whose wife and children were casualties of war. Their deaths disordered his mind and heart to such an extent that he became possessed. The demon drives him to attack women." Set folded his hands. "He believes that, by thus preventing them from conceiving, he is saving them from the pain he endured when he lost his own children."

"How horrible." Pekhasu's eyes glittered. "What will you do with him? I can't imagine any punishment could be worse than the hell he's already been through."

"We will allow the families of his victims to kill him." Set said. "It will not bring back the dead, and it is neither just nor merciful, but it will be an end to his suffering." Kheffrey, of course, would not be pleased with the judgment, especially given his unusual behavior toward the prisoner. "Pekhasu … what are your thoughts on my High Priest Kheffrey?"

Pekhasu looked surprised. "I don't have any thoughts about him. Should I?"

"He has sent you gifts and poetry." What would Kheffrey do once Pekhasu spurned him? The High Priest had shown such odd reactions of late: would he accept it calmly? Become morose? Enraged? Or would he abuse his station and his sacred power as he had with Mihakrates, and bend Pekhasu to his will?

"Oh dear. Is he – courting me? I thought such liaisons were punishable by death in this era."

"Death?" Set scoffed. "No, only if force was used on an unwilling participant. Or to avenge public dishonor."

"Dishonor?"

Pekhasu seemed genuinely puzzled, so Set explained the obvious. "To take a man's seed into one's body is a woman's role. Men do not willingly do such a thing."

"Ah, right," Pekhasu said. "I keep forgetting the mind-set in place here. Double standard, rigid gender rules, tops and bottoms … now that you mention it, isn't there a story about Horus and Set and Isis and a leafy green salad with dubious dressing?"

"Do not mock my gods, Pekhasu," Set warned.

Pekhasu held up his hands. "Please, I meant no offense. I was just reminding myself that sexual relations in this time are all about dominance and creating descendants. In my time, other aspects factor in." He leaned forward. "Why did you ask what I thought of Kheffrey?"

"It might be prudent," Set said, "to be wary of him."

"Why?" Pekhasu looked alarmed. "Is he a danger to me?"

"I do not know." Set mentally castigated himself for straying further and further from his task. He needed to draw the topic of the conversation back to something more enjoyable – and then it came to him: From what Mana had said, Set guessed that Pekhasu was one who very much enjoyed talking about himself. "So in your time," he asked, "you court ... both women and men?"

"I have only ever courted one woman ... and I do not court men." Pekhasu looked mildly offended.

"But what of this Kaiba Seto?" Set asked. "Mana said you speak of him excessively."

"I suppose I do, but it's certainly not a courtship. Not in any way."

"He must have the same qualities as your wife had," Set said.

Pekhasu laughed, long and boisterously. "Oh, what an idea!" he said at last, wiping tears from his eyes. "No, no ... he is as unlike her in all ways possible."

"Surely not?" Set said stubbornly. "They must be similar, for you to be drawn to both."

"How shall I convince you … " Pekhasu began. "Cyndia was kind and gentle. He is harsh." He held up his hands, palms up, and lifted first one and then the other as he spoke, as if weighing his words on a scale. "Where she was playful and sensuous, he is entirely joyless. She loved to help others; he has disdain for the weak and an unhealthy obsession with vanquishing the strong. She saw beauty in everything, while he sees … hm, I don't know _what_ he sees, really, but I imagine it's probably just some dull lifeless hue. Or spreadsheets.”

"Spreadsheets?"

"Calculation tablets."

Set leaned back in the chair. "This man Kaiba Seto is the night to her day."

Pekhasu chuckled. "That is ... a much less long-winded way of putting it, yes."

"Then I cannot understand what about him interests you."

"It's – have you ever had a deadly animal as a pet? A leopard, or a poisonous snake? Weren't you tempted to poke a stick into the cage, to make it snarl and hiss and strike? ... That is what Seto is to me. Although it's almost impossible these days to get him in the same room with me – I've annoyed him quite often, at times to the point where I feared for my life – I nevertheless crave his company. I find his aura of imminent explosion thrilling."

"So you do not desire him?"

"Hardly," Pekhasu scoffed.

"You pursue elusive prey, with no intent to capture?" Set found this claim humorous, and said, "Even a Royal Hunt is followed by roasted meat."

"No," Pekhasu made a sour face, "I have no interest in 'capturing any roasted meat,' as you so charmingly put it. What I do to Kaiba – it's just a game I play when I'm bored. Or maybe it's not even boredom – perhaps I'm just a sadist. Or a masochist. I don't know what it is. Flip a coin."

"I do not know those words," Set said. "For those who stand within arm's-length, one may feel respect, friendship, or desire." He shrugged. "Or disinterest."

"Ah, the joys of a simpler era," Pekhasu said.

"So this Kaiba Seto is violent? Threatens your life?" Set asked with a frown. "What have you done to anger him so?"

Pekhasu looked away. "It's complicated." And then he laughed bitterly, and looked down at his hands. "Well, no, it's not." He looked at Set, and said as if the words burned him, "Back in my time, when I had the Eye, just before I came here, I did some things … to him. To his family. They're pretty much unforgivable, I suppose, and so yes, he hates me because I am a horrible, horrible person."

Set said thoughtfully, "It is not for me to judge what you have done, Pekhasu. But I will say that my father, who was Keeper of the Eye before Duau, was a good and pious man before the Eye twisted him into a monster of darkness."

Pekhasu looked shocked – and relieved.

"When my father could not bend me to his will," Set said quietly, "he tried to kill me." He had never told this story to anyone living. "Kisara died saving me." He had to pause for a moment, to swallow a lump in his throat. "So I would say that the demon of the Eye killed _your_ future happiness as surely as it killed mine."

Pekhasu looked moved. He started to stretch his hand across the table toward Set, but then stopped, as if unsure if it was appropriate. "I am honored that you have shared your pain with me, Set; I feel blessed by your understanding." He sounded entirely sincere, with no hint of his customary flippancy. "I wish – I wish that Kaiba were more like you. You are the exemplar of how he might have turned out, if he had not been so warped by fate and circumstance." Pekhasu dropped his eyes and said, "In fact, were he more like you, I might indeed be interested in … _capture_."

"Then he should transcend his flaws, and seek your companionship."

"And wouldn't _that_ be interesting," Pekhasu said, leaning back with a small smile. "But enough about me. What about you? Where does the joy come from in your life, Pharaoh?"

"A pharaoh has no room for private joy," Set said. "My country, my people, are my joy."

"If Kisara had lived," Pekhasu asked, "or if Mana had brought her back instead of me, wouldn't you have married her? To produce heirs, someone to succeed you on the throne?"

Set had thought much on this painful question, but he had never before said aloud the painful answer. "I could never have made her my Queen, only an honored concubine."

"And any children she bore?"

"They would have my divine blood, and so would be rightful heirs." As he said this the vision that he had had when Mihakrates touched the Rod came back to him: a pale-haired infant with a freshly-cut birth cord. A man with a hideously scarred face. Flashing knives. Dim stone corridors echoing with screams. The tablet of the Three Gods, carved into human flesh.

"What's wrong?"

Set shook his head and looked out the narrow window. The sun had set, and stars were beginning to emerge in the dusky sky. "Inheritance."

"Come again?"

"It's getting dark. Did they provide you a lamp?"

"I think so." Pekhasu got up, banged around in the antechamber; there was the sound of the door opening, and then Pekhasu and Mana's faint laughter. A few moments later Pekhasu returned, carrying a flickering oil lamp, which he set on the table.

"Whether I have sons to follow me … " Set said, watching the small flame. "… is a selfish wish for my own glory, and matters not. It is my kingdom that must survive." He looked at Pekhasu. "Tell me – does my kingdom last? Or is it forgotten by your day?"

"Oh, it lasts," Pekhasu says. "And is still greatly admired."

"That pleases me," Set said.

They sat listening to the sounds of the night, to the cicadas and the wind, to the calls of the soldiers guarding the city gates and the far-off whinny of horses.

"It's getting late," Pekhasu said suddenly. "Let's go to bed." He grinned at Set's shocked expression, then lifted his arms, ran his hands through his long hair, and said sweetly, "I wasn't suggesting anything _lewd_ , of course. Just that we could share the bed for mutual comfort. It's quite pleasant to sleep next to a warm body, be it a lover's or not."

"I will do it, since it pleases you." Set wondered if sleeping in a strange bed would make the dreams unable to find him.

He could see as he undressed for bed that Pekhasu was hesitating, as if unsure of the protocol of laying himself down next to a Pharaoh. "No need for ceremony," Set said, and then, in hopes that it would make Pekhasu less anxious, paraphrased one of Siamun's adages. "I am Pharaoh, but like all men I squat to shit."

Pekhasu chuckled, but once only his loincloth remained he turned his back to Set, sat on the edge of the bed, and lay down on his side, his head even with Set's shoulder.

"It _is_ pleasant," Set said. Pekhasu's hair was a smooth silvery wing on his arm.

Pekhasu made a soft sound of assent.

"What would you do," Set asked, "if he _did_ say those words?"

"It would never happen," Pekhasu murmured. "But if it did, I would laugh and laugh, and be instantly on my guard waiting to see what trick he had planned."

"What if he spoke honestly?" Set asked. "What then? Would you allow yourself to … ?" He lifted his fingertips just enough to brush Pekhasu's skin. "Be captured?"

Pekhasu took a long time to answer. "Well," he said at last, "Why don't you say the lines again, and we'll see what happens?"

.

.

.

.

  
_**A plea: if you review, please avoid mentioning spoilers?** _

* * *

A big thank you to **Dark Rabbit** for once again being an insightful, merciless beta.

Some author's notes, including a link to some artwork done for the story, is at my LiveJournal and Dreamwidth.

.

(09) 21 Nov 2014 


	5. Judgment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after brings Pharaoh Set confessions and challenges ... and then there's the prophecy. Will it be the hand of the gods that strikes Pekhasu down, or the hand of man?

.

.

A white butterfly travels across the dark blue-gray sky just before dawn, landing on the sill of a narrow window in a stone tower.

Inside the tower is a room; inside the room is a bed. Currents of warm air rise from the bodies in the bed, rich with the smell of warm metal and sweet oil and salt. On the floor next to the bed is a pool of cloth, swirling with the saturated aromas of walnut leaf and indigo petal dyes.

But it is the fragrant fruit, placed just inside the room by cautious hands, that beckons the butterfly most strongly. It flutters across the room and lands next to the plate just as the hands finish sprinkling the fruit with a fine powder …

.

**.**

The sun had just begun to enter the sky when Set awoke.

He sat up to see Pekhasu sitting at the table by the window, watching him. Over his white linen kilt he wore the blue cloak of the Kaiba costume.

Set wrapped and tucked his loincloth, then took the green robe from the floor. It made him uneasy to see Pekhasu in blue, on this the third day. Had he not heard Nafattah's words? Or did he not believe in prophecy? _Blue, blood of three._ Who were the other two?

"Good morning," Pekhasu said, and then pointed to a tray of fruit on the table. "Breakfast with me before you go?"

Set picked up a fig half. He noticed that Pekhasu was wearing Kheffrey's gift, the blue faience butterfly, and nodded at it.

"The pendant?" Pekhasu shrugged. "Nafattah said that jewelry is a sign of station, and that if I don't wear _any_ it makes it look as if I'm a slave – and thus, that you're treating a slave as an honored guest. Plus, the color somewhat matches the cloak." A thought seemed to strike him, and he asked nervously, "Wearing the necklace doesn't … betroth me to Kheffrey, does it? Or require me to sleep with him?"

Set thought it likely that by this time the palace gossips had spread the word that the Pharaoh had spent the night in Pekhasu's room – which would therefore mark the tall silver-haired man as off-limits – but he saw no reason to tell Pekhasu this. "No, there is no obligation," he said casually, "though he _may_ take it as a sign you favor him."

Pekhasu _hmm'd_ and undid the clasp. "How unfortunate."

Set held up his hand. "No, I misled you. Wear it. It suits you."

Pekhasu looked surprised, and then he laughed. "A sense of humor? That cinches it: you definitely are not Kaiba." He murmured as he re-fastened the pendant, "Though I admit the prospect of people thinking that I am your personal slave is … unexpectedly intriguing." The look he then gave Set was clearly flirtatious.

Set sighed. What an exasperating person. Did he not understand that what they had done last night would not happen again? "Pekhasu … "

"Oh, no need to say it," Pekhasu cut in with what seemed like forced cheerfulness. "I read faces quite well. Last night was simply pleasurable dabbling." He picked up a slice of melon, licking the juice that dripped from it before taking a bite. "Which is fine – in my time there's a famous quotation by Sir Thomas Beecham about trying everything at least once, except folk dancing and – well, never mind the quotation. The fact is, we're consenting adults, and so it's no one's business but ours what we did in that bed." He reached for more melon, and then made a soft sad noise.

"What is it?" Set asked.

Pekhasu lifted the plate of melon off the tray, revealing a small butterfly, its wings pressed together. "Poor thing, I think it's dead."

"They are short-lived," Set said, "but rarely die so peacefully."

"Peacefully?"

"Usually they are eaten."

"Speaking of food, this desert air certainly whets my appetite," Pekhasu said, taking another slice of melon. "If I keep eating like this I'm going to have to exercise to stay in shape." He stopped. "Oh, how _gauche_ of me! Please, take some before I devour it all!"

Set returned his uneaten fig to the tray. "Actually, I never eat so soon after waking."

"Set." Pekhasu put down his food and wore a suddenly-serious face. "I admit … last night took me by surprise. I never imagined I'd ever …. but you were – well, you made it a very positive experience." He looked troubled. "But your society's rules now require you to avoid me, right? Because I, er, swallowed?"

Set's privately-held opinion was that pleasure did not dishonor either party – certainly he and Shaada had maintained a strong friendship and mutual respect over the years – but he needed to be careful not to say anything that might be taken as encouragement. "Don't be foolish," he said. "You are not of our time. You will not be expected to follow our ways."

"I don't see why not, but on the other hand I'll be glad to skip the 'gets shunned' part." Pekhasu took the fig that Set hadn't eaten and bit into it. "So what's on the agenda for me today? Go to the library and continue to annoy Mana?"

 _If I keep him with me, he cannot come to harm._ "If you wish," Set said, "you can accompany me."

.

**.**

After donning his robes of state – which Mana had, in her thoughtful way, hidden in a covered basket in the antechamber – Set and Pekhasu descended the stairs from the tower room and then made their way through the corridors of the palace to the Room of Audience. The number of overly-stoic guards they passed on the way almost made Set chuckle: it seemed that he had been right about the palace gossips.

The Room of Audience was oddly empty: only Khinubis and Aknetos awaited him.

"Where are the others?" he asked Aknetos as he took the list of the day's petitions.

"Mana continues her work in the library," Aknetos said. "I have not seen Nafattah and Duau since they went to visit the prisoner late yesterday."

"The prisoner? Mihakrates?"

"I believe so."

"Why?"

Aknetos looked worried. "Nafattah had a vision; when she insisted that she needed to speak to him, Duau insisted on accompanying her."

"And Kheffrey?"

"I do not know."

"I will find Kheffrey," Khinubis said, "and send him to you,"

"Not necessary," Set said, and handed Khinubis the list of petitions and the royal seal. "Have him minister to the people in my name today." Set was certain that this sign of esteem would assuage Kheffrey's disappointment over being rejected by Pekhasu.

.

**.**

"Do you know what the vision showed her?" Set asked as they hurried down the stairs to the dungeons.

"No," Aknetos replied. "All she said was that she had to help him find peace before he died."

When they reached the lowest level of the dungeon, Duau stood with the guards, and to Set's astonishment put out his arm, barring their way. "Lady Nafattah asked not to be disturbed. By anyone," he said apologetically.

Set bristled, but before he could find words to respond Nafattah's soft voice echoed in the corridor beyond. "It's fine, now. They can come."

When they reached the prisoner's cell they saw that Nafattah was inside, sitting on a sleeping mat. A faded blanket was draped around her shoulders. She held the prisoner's hand – shocking enough – but even more shocking was the change in the prisoner himself. The day before he had been naked, bloody, a raging animal; today he was clean, and clothed, and calm. Set noticed a basin of water and some rags in the far corner.

"I'm ready," Mihakrates said as Set and the others stared in at him. "I've said goodbye to my wife."

"What – "

"Unspoken words tear open the heart," Nafattah said softly. "But Death makes a knife that ever twists in the wound."

Set suddenly had trouble finding words. He, like Mihakrates, like Pekhasu, had had the woman he loved violently snatched from him. "What do you mean?"

"I gave him the chance to say what he wanted to say to his wife, and to his children." Nafattah let go of Mihakrates' hand, kissed him gently on the forehead, and then stood.

"Thank you, my love," Mihakrates said as he looked up at her. "Ask our children to forgive me."

"I will, my husband," she said.

"The families," Mihakrates said to Set, "will you seat them close to me so that the sight of my death brings them peace?"

"It will not," Aknetos said sadly, "nor will your blood bring their sisters and wives and daughters back to life. All it will do is appease their need for vengeance in this world, and release your soul to Anubis for judgment in the Hall of Maat."

Mihakrates bowed his head, and the five left his cell.

"Wait, _that's_ the murderer you told me about? That – _boy_?" Pekahsu asked, apparently horrified. He continued to protest as they ascended the stairs out of the dungeon. "He's to be executed _publicly_? That's – horrible! It's torture as a spectator sport!" He snorted in disgust. "You're supposed to be the height of the civilized world in this era, not bloodthirsty barbarians!"

"What do you do with murderers in _your_ country?" Duau asked, irked. "Allow them to do as they will?"

"No, but Set said that young man was deranged!" Pekhasu said. "He probably didn't even know what he was doing when he killed them!"

"So only the sound of mind should be punished?"

"Absolutely. Awareness of guilt, remorse – those are elements of higher consciousness."

"Rabid animals have neither guilt nor remorse. Do you let them run free?" Duau asked.

"No … " Pekhasu scowled. "But that's hardly a fair comparison."

"Pekhasu, I am loathe to take life," Aknetos said, "and yet even I agree. The prisoner has a demon inside him that devours life, and we have not been able to extricate it. He has begged us in his calm moments to kill him so that no more will die at his hands."

"Then … I don't know! Can't you put him somewhere that isolates him from people? Solitary confinement on an island? Caretaker of a remote cemetery or tomb? You have hundreds of those out here."

"And would that be kinder than death?" Duau asked.

"Enough talk!" Set's patience was gone. "He will die. It is our law."

"Ridiculous." Pekhasu stopped walking and folded his arms. "If you're going to kill that boy, then you ought to kill _me_ as well."

"You are not subject to our laws."

"I don't want to be exempt!"

Set didn't understand why Pekhasu was challenging him in this way. "You have done nothing we would punish."

"Oh, haven't I?"

"Deliberately angering someone for your own amusement is not an offense." Set warned. "It may be _dangerous_ , but it is not treasonous."

"Well, let's see," Pekhasu said. "I've committed fraud, stolen an old man's soul, ordered the abduction of children, and caused the death of men loyal to me." He added, "Oh, and what you'd probably consider blasphemy or sacrilege or something – I took the vision I was shown of your sacred combat and turned it into merchandise. A game sold for profit."

"Nonsense," Set said, but he was shocked. Were these allegations true, perhaps Pekhasu _did_ merit the severest penalties.

"If you don't believe it, have him Mind Scan me," Pekhasu said, with a nod at Duau. "There's no way to hide from the Eye, even if I wanted to – I've burrowed into other heads often enough myself."

"Mind Scan?" Set, as well as the others, looked at Duau.

Duau looked distressed. "There is more to the Gift of the Eye than I have dared use."

"Can you do it?"

"It would require a deeper push than what is used for seeing a person's _ka_ -form."

"Do so," Set ordered. "Tell us the truth of Pekhasu's claims."

After several silent minutes had passed – during which Pekhasu, his eyes closed, seemed to be in pain – Duau nodded. "All he said is true."

"But Pekhasu, _you_ are not the one who did those things," Nafattah said earnestly. "That man is thousands of years away. You simply echo the memory of what he did."

"I appreciate you trying to shield me, but of course I _am_ that man. I'm – he's –just displaced in time is all. Like standing between two mirrors. It's one reality, no matter how many reflected images there are." Pekhasu lifted his head and said to Set, "He, I, we – use what word you want, it's still murder and sacrilege."

"Murder? You killed your men with your own hands?" Duau asked, as Aknetos stepped between Set and Pekhasu.

"No, but it was … through my _hubris_ and greed and hunger for power. They died because I dared harness the divine. For profit."

"If the gods truly were angry with you, you would have died with your men," Set said. "They strike down the unworthy. You have not been struck down."

Pekhasu shook his head. "That proves nothing. I've never truly faced them, except in my nightmares."

Duau asked, "Do you _wish_ to be struck down?"

"No," Pekhasu said. "But being here, or the loss of the Eye, or something about that young man back there, I don't know why, but … I've realized that I haven't been accountable. To anyone. For anything. And that … feels wrong." He looked at Set with something near desperation, and continued, panting as if in pain. "I need to confess. To be judged. To know if I'm a lost cause, or whether there's still a chance. If not for forgiveness then at least redemption. To appease the gods. To make reparations to Kaiba-boy, and Yuugi, and Keith, and all those others." He winced, and put his hand on his chest. "I need to know."

Set did not fully understand, but he did know what was required, "We will take you to the Shrine of Wedju."

.

**.**

"Amazing." Pekhasu stopped every few steps, giving each tablet his full attention. "Seeing all this when it's new, without the dust of millennia … "

Set folded his arms. It should have been humorous, the way the sophisticated, articulate conversationalist of the night before now wandered with his mouth agape, but Set was far from laughter. As puzzled as he was by Pekhasu's sudden demand for judgment, he nevertheless was not going to allow his fondness for the strange man to interfere with his duty to uphold Maat.

And then too, he was still annoyed that Pekhasu had presumed to force his hand over the fate of the prisoner Mihakrates.

"You made all of these?" Pekhasu moved on to the tablet with Bastet, Karim's _ka_. "However did you conceive of the idea?"

"Priests of Wedju have known of _ka_ since time immemorial," Aknetos said, "But it was Aknamkanon's Guardians who first made the Stones of Sealing."

"Stones of Sealing." Pekhasu touched the tablet. "How is it done?"

"The Key is drawn to the radiance of power," Aknetos said. "The Eye reveals its form. The Rod compels it into the stone."

"The Items, of course," Pekhasu said, moving on to Siamun's _ka_ , The Unbound. "Powers seem to have shifted a bit over the millennia …. How do you bring them from the tablet?"

"An inferior form of a lesser beast can be drawn out by skilled sorcerers," Aknetos said. "The most powerful require a tribute of _ba_."

Pekhasu nodded. "Life force. Shadow Games. The visions make more sense now." He looked up, toward the panel of the Three Divine Beasts. "The greatest of all. The glimpses I've had of them ... Are they summoned the same way?"

"Only a god, or one chosen by the gods, is worthy to call them," Nafattah said.

Pekhasu nodded. "As Ishizu told me. No wonder my men died." He shivered. "Will you summon them now?" he asked quietly.

Set felt fate flooding the moment, like the deluge of the Nile. "It is not so easily done."

"Could we duel?" Pekhasu asked. "A Shadow Game? Or even a normal duel?"

"Yes, it would have to be a holy combat," Aknetos said. "Not a Shadow Game."

Pekhasu turned to face Set. "Either way, after you summon them I'll beg forgiveness, and then surrender. If I'm still alive." He smiled weakly. "Really, it shouldn't take more than a few minutes. You'll all be done well before lunchtime."

"Enough!" Set snapped. "How _dare_ you act as if this is no different than … looking at rugs in the marketplace?" He was angry with Pekhasu, but he was far angrier with himself, because deep down, he knew he was trying to use Pekhasu's blasphemous behavior as an excuse not to attempt to call the gods: and yet, for the sake of his people, Set knew it would be best to face the truth now, when no lives depended on it. If the gods did not answer, if they disdained him as unworthy – then this hour would be his judgment as well.

"We three could summon a _ka_ on his behalf?" Aknetos was looking at him with a raised eyebrow, waiting.

"Oh, I don't get to use one of those, and summon it myself?" Pekhasu asked, pointing to a DiaDankh in a niche near the altar. "It seems familiar – I suppose must have seen one in the visions Shadi showed me." He grimaced, and adjusted the waist of his kilt.

"As we do not know the form of your _ka_ ," Nafattah said softly, "you will need to chose one to stand for you."

"Any I shouldn't try to use?" Pekhasu asked, and he glanced at the tablet of the White Dragon. It was clear that he understood that, beyond Kisara's, _ka_ belonging to fallen friends would be too painful for Set and the others to see brought forth.

Aknetos nodded. "None of those near the altar. Walk amongst the rest until one calls to you."

"Alright." As Pekhasu turned toward the ranks of lesser _ka_ , he made a hissing sound and bent over, folding both arms over his belly.

"Are you truly so ill?" Duau asked.

"It's probably just nerves," Pekhasu said as he straightened up, grimacing. "Or far too much fruit for breakfast." He pointed. "Ah, what about that one? Could I use that one? That face with just a mouth?"

"Half-Carved Wooden Doll?"

"What an interesting name," Pekhasu said. "In my time I called it Illusionist Faceless Mage, though I can't remember why. Your name is far better, as it's clearly a body with interchangeable heads. Or perhaps those are puppets on the mage's shoulders? I suspect, for all his skill at illusions, that the Mage doesn't control them, but the other way around." He laughed nervously. "It seems painfully apt for my current situation."

The three priests went to stand behind Pekhasu, and quickly summoned the Wooden Doll. "Now it's your turn," Pekhasu said to Set. "Come on, Pharaoh, show me what you've got." He added with a wink, "That is to say, things I haven't already seen."

Set frowned at this indiscreet comment.

"Don't hold back on my account," Pekhasu said, tilting his head. "If I'm going to die, I can't think of many deaths more poetic than being annihilated by vengeful gods."

Set held up his DiaDankh and closed his eyes.

"If Mana had succeeded," he heard Nafattah say quietly, "Kisara would be standing next to you. _"_

His heart leapt at those words: he could almost hear Kisara's soft voice saying, "I believe in you, my love." With a sudden burst of determination, he shouted, "Divine ones, come to me! God-Soldier of Geb! God-Dragon of Osiris! God-Phoenix of Ra!"

And then he felt it, a surge of music flowing through him, molten gold in his veins. Even with his eyes closed he could see the three lights arcing down from the tablets on the wall, feel the floor of the shrine shudder. An instant later the silence behind him was filled with sound: the rumble of the soldier's breath, the crackle of lightning as the dragon coiled and uncoiled, the snap of the phoenix's searing wingbeats. Set could sense, in every bone and muscle and fiber of his being, the immense power of the Divine Beasts he had summoned.

And he could feel, too, their absolute fealty to him: they were his to command. With that realization his doubts were swept away. Yes, he was a man, but he was also the chosen of Atem, the vessel of Horus, upholder of Maat. He opened his eyes to see an awestruck Pekhasu kneeling, and then bowing until his forehead touched the floor. Behind him the three priests were stunned speechless.

"I am Sehet-ib-Re," Set announced, "Lord of the Two Lands, Ruler of Kemet, Protector of the weak. While I live none shall harm my people!"

"I surrender," Pekhasu choked out from behind his curtain of hair, "to all of you. Do with me what you will."

The Wooden Doll faded. Set turned, and bowed his head to the three Divine Beasts. After a moment later they shimmered and dissolved as well.

Set exhaled deeply: he knew now that he could protect the people. When he turned back he saw Nafattah smiling at him. Had she known that he was afraid?

As if in reply to his unspoken question she then said, "We are Guardians. The welfare of the Pharaoh is _our_ responsibility."

There was a moment of silent thanks, of respect and loyalty, and then Set said to the still-suppliant Pekhasu, "And see, Pekhasu of Kerafu, the gods did not strike you down."

"Pekhasu?" Nafattah asked, when he did not move.

A moment later the four were crowded around him. They turned him over gently, and Set noticed that Pekhasu's skin, slick with sweat despite the shrine's cool air, was flushed and almost hot to the touch.

"I'm sorry," Pekhasu gasped, "but it hurts ... it hurts so much." He shuddered, and then curled in on himself, spasming with dry heaves.

"Is this a punishment of the gods?" Duau asked.

"No," Set said grimly. "I think that this is the work of man."

.

.

_~ to be continued ~_

.

.

Thank you to **Dark Rabbit** , my Virgil.

Additional author's notes posted at my Dreamwidth and LiveJournal.

.

(07) 9 Aug 2013


	6. That Which Remains

 .

.

"I guess the gods didn't accept my apology." Pekhasu, maddeningly, was laughing.

"My chambers are closest," Set said. "Take him there." As Duau and Aknetos helped Pekhasu to his feet, Set turned to Nafattah. "Find the Chief Physician and the priests of Sekmet."

Nafattah nodded and ran ahead.

"Or maybe it was the figs after all," Pekhasu gasped, supported by Duau and Aknetos as he staggered toward the shrine's exit. "Dying from a fig overdose ... is hardly poetic."

"Nonsense. You will not die," Set said. "He moves too slowly," he said to his priests. "Carry him."

They moved quickly, up the shadowed stairs and through the hidden door into the palace, and then down the empty corridor to Set's private chambers.

As Pekhasu was eased onto the bed Set saw, where Duau and Aknetos had held him, the white imprint of their fingers on the red, swollen skin of his arms.

"He looks like one burned by the sun," Aknetos said.

Pekhasu rolled on his side, and then began frantically rubbing and slapping his face and chest. "I'm … what's _crawling on me?_ _"_ He twisted frantically for a moment and then went limp, his eyes rolling back in his head as his lids closed.

Set clenched his fist. Where were the physicians?

Tesheset and her medical apprentices hurried in a few minutes later. Set had shocked some of his older advisers by appointing a female as Chief Physician, but he didn't care: the way the old woman's attention had immediately gone to Pekhasu rather than spending five minutes lavishing empty flattery on her Pharaoh proved that it had been the right decision.

Set and his priests moved away from the bed to watch Tesheset work. One of her apprentices lit smudge pots of aromatic herbs at the corners of the bed; another placed talismans of Sekmet and Sobek next to Pekhasu's head and began to pray as Tesheset thumbed back Pekhasu's eyelids, smelled his breath, examined his swollen hands and feet, and then pressed his abdomen, which was now noticeably distended.

Then, as one attendant gently removed Pekhasu's clothing while another spread a clean white linen sheet over him, Tesheset turned to inspect a narrow scroll, its incantation still wet with ink, that a scribe held out to her. She nodded her approval and then turned to Set.

"You think it's magical?" Set asked. "A curse?"

"Perhaps," she replied, and looked over at the apprentices draping Pekhasu with incantation scrolls. "But the evidence weighs on the side of poison. There are no visible bites or stings, so if it _was_ poison it was likely taken in through food or drink. Do you know if he has eaten since yesterday evening?"

"This morning." Set felt the whisper of danger: had the poisoned fruit been meant for him instead of Pekhasu? "Figs and melon. He ate a great deal."

"That narrows it," Tesheset said, nodding. "Many poisons require a strong-tasting food or beverage to mask their bitter flavor."

"Administer an antidote!" Set demanded.

"Several are already being prepared," she said, "But without knowing the exact poison we cannot know which is the best cure." She said thoughtfully, "What concerns me is the swelling of his body. I have never seen its like in a living body: usually only a putrefying corpse bloats so."

"Just help him." The sight of Pekhasu's belly, now shaped like an inverted bowl and seeming to grow visibly from moment to moment, horrified Set: it had been taut and concave under his hands the night before, and now all he could picture was the smooth skin stretching and stretching until it burst into bloody ribbons.

_Blood of three._

"We will do all we can," Tesheset said. "But I must caution you –his dark red color suggests that most of whatever was on the fruit has already been absorbed by his body."

"And if that is so?" Set asked.

"Then his life is in the hands of the gods."

.

Set paced in the outer room of his chamber, listening to the prayers of the priests of Sekmet. From time to time he stopped in the doorway to watch as Tesheset and the other physicians trickled liquids down a hollow reed and into Pekhasu's throat, or as the apprentices applied aromatic poultices and massaged the ailing man's hands, feet, and still-swelling stomach.

_Blood of three._

In the early afternoon he finally sent Duau and Aknetos off to find Nafattah and Mana, no longer able to tolerate their anxious, worried faces. He knew that visions and magic would be of no help to Pekhasu, but Pekhasu might find the presence of the two women comforting.

If he awoke.

Tesheset brought him an herbal infusion to drink. "Calm yourself. Your agitation accomplishes nothing."

"I will find the one who did this to him."

"How is he?" Kheffrey was in the doorway, his face pinched with worry.

"He is dying," Set said without thinking.

"No!" Kheffrey blurted out. "It shouldn't have – "

Set grabbed him by the throat. " _What_ shouldn't have?"

"The … powder," he choked out, turning red. "On the fruit. So that he would .. welcome me."

Set let Kheffrey go, tossing him back against the guards. "You planned to visit him this morning after I left."

Kheffrey hung his head. "I … "

Set hissed between clenched teeth. "Tell Tesheset."

Kheffrey hurried into the inner chamber. Set, struggling to withhold his fury, pulled out his dagger and stabbed it into his work table. _What have I done, to be punished so? D_ _estroying all those near to me?_ _My foster parents. My father. Kisara. Shaada. Atem … and now Pekhasu._

And then a red-faced and tearful Mana was at his side, clutching the huge spell-book that she had used for the summoning spell.

"Mana," Set said. "Good."

"Why are all these people here?" She noticed the activity in Set's bedchamber and leaned to one side to get a better look. "Is that  _Tesheset?_ Are you sick?" she asked with concern.

"Didn't the others send you?" Set asked.

"No I was on my way here. With news for you. What's happening?"

"Pekhasu has been poisoned."

Mana gasped. "I can do a spell to find out who did it."

"I already know who did it," Set said coldly, pleased to see Kheffrey's guilty cringe from across the room. "We'll have an antidote soon."

"Maybe … the doctors should … just work on making him comfortable," Mana said, her lip trembling.

"What? Why?"

"Because I finally translated page 42." Tears brimmed and then spilled as she wailed, "He's going to disappear soon."

 .

Once Mana had calmed herself she explained. "I translated three times to make sure I was reading it correctly, but … " Tears continued to run down her face, but she sniffled and kept going. "The spell only lasts for three days. I couldn't believe it, so I tried to find Kheffrey, to see if Beauty the spider was still here or not, but I couldn't find Kheffrey, so I went to the temple to check on the three-legged cat. No one's seen her for days, and her food hasn't been touched."

"Gone," Set said. He glanced over at Tesheset and the other physicians, who were gathered around Pekhasu's bed arguing in heated whispers. "What will happen to him?" Set asked Mana.

"I don't know!" She hugged her spell-book. "He might be reabsorbed in his original time, or he might just  … " She made a poofing motion with her hands.

"Or he might just disappear?"

Mana nodded.

"How long?"

"A few … " She pressed her lips together and her face started to crumple, but then she exhaled forcefully and said, "A few hours after sunset."

As the three sat, soberly considering this, Tesheset approached. She – and the gaggle of physicians, apprentices and priests clustered behind her – had expressions with varying amounts of astonished disbelief.

"What is it?" Set asked warily.

"The aphrodisiac powder that he was given," Tesheset said, "is what reddened his skin. But there is more to his illness."

"More?"

"There is … something. Moving. Inside him."

"Moving?" Set felt ill: what fresh horror was this?

Tesheset nodded. "It is most likely a nest of serpents."

"Or scorpions," added one of the younger physicians tartly.

"Or scorpions," Tesheset repeated, by her expression making it clear that she thought this to be nonsense. "Whether placed there by nature or by powerful magic, it yields not at all to our treatments and prayers."

"So there is nothing you can do?" Set asked. And when his only answer was their solemn silence, he took a chair and sat by Pekhasu's side.

 .

Over the next hours, the physicians continued to tend, the priests continued to pray, and one by one Set's Sacred Guardians joined Set and Mana's vigil.

"I'm so sorry," Mana said, as the sun began to pass below the edge of the world and the room began to darken with approaching night.

Set shook his head, watching the attendants light the oil lamps. "Although he was not my love Kisara, it was good that you brought him to us. Even if it was only for a short time."

The lamps had just been re-filled when Pekhasu's eyes fluttered and opened.

"Oh my," he said weakly, surveying the sad faces around him, then looking down at the enormous dome his stomach had become. "I suppose I won't have long, if whatever's jostling around in there plans to come out."

"It might be less painful if we cut you," Tesheset said, "to let the serpents escape."

"Or the scorpions," one of the assistants muttered.

"Otherwise they may chew their way out."

Pekhasu smiled faintly. "Well, that sounds _quite_ unpleasant." He sucked in his breath as if in pain but said only, "Mana? Someone took away the beautiful blue cloak you made for me. Could I have it back now?"

As Mana draped it over his shoulders and chest he pulled her close and whispered something in her ear.

"What?" Mana had pulled back and was staring at him, shocked.

Pekhasu turned away, arching his back with a low cry. As Set and Mana reached for him his body began to shimmer and glow. He clutched at the air and opened his eyes wide – and for a moment Set could have sworn that they were not dark amber but bright, bright blue.

"What's happening?" someone asked fearfully as Pekhasu's face dissolved into blue and gold and silvery-white fire, shining brighter and brighter until it was as terrible as the sun itself and they had to look away.

And then, as had happened three nights before, a swirling column of wind blew out the lamps and knocked everyone to the floor.

.

It took a few moments for someone to return with fire to re-light the lamps.

Pekhasu was gone. On the bed, only the crumpled fabric of the white sheet and the blue cloak remained.

Fabric that was moving.

Mana gasped and took Set's hand, and as they watched, astounded, some of the "fabric" on the bed rose in a swirl of white and blue and streamed out the window.

And when they had gone, something remained.

"What is it?" Mana asked.

Set stepped close and whispered. "Blue. Blood of three … " he said faintly.

"But there's no blood," Mana said, and she was crying again, but now from happiness.

"Yes there is," Set said, picking up the first of the three infants, a suddenly squalling boy with downy dark hair, tawny skin, and blue eyes. "My blood. From my seed." He kissed the infant on the forehead, then handed him to Tesheset.

"Divine offspring," she said reverently, marveling at the infant's lack of umbilical cord. "Fathered by our Pharaoh on a magical stranger."

Set picked up the second boy, a sleepy pale cherub whose delicate skull was dusted with silver. "Welcome," Set said, and was startled when the yawning boy opened his eyes, flashing dark amber.

"I'll hold him," Nafattah said. "I need the practice."

Mana looked almost comically surprised. "Wait – Nafattah … are you … ?"

Nafattah just smiled, and gave the cooing baby her finger to hold.

Set found tears pricking his eyes as he lifted his daughter, who had grabbed the edge of the blue shawl in her tiny fist. He held her on his shoulder, and as her heavy head settled against his neck in sleep he felt a peace and contentment deeper than any he had ever known.

"Mana," he asked, "What did he say to you? Just before?"

"I'm not sure," she replied, gently tucking the blue cloak around Set's sleeping daughter. "But it sounded like, _'Maybe you didn't fail after all.'_  "

 _Great Mother Isis …_  Set wondered in awe, _did you allow a miracle? Allow Kisara to return and give me the last gift of her love?_

Kheffrey was collecting the tiny white beads – all that remained of the necklace Pekhasu had worn – from the bed. "How odd," he murmured, "the pendant isn't here."

"Maybe it flew away with the other butterflies?" Nafattah suggested.

"Do you think he'll remember us?" Khinubis asked. "Wherever it is that he has gone?"

"We cannot know," Pharaoh Set said. "But his memory will always have a home here."

 

.

_By decree of Pharaoh Set, Sehet-ib-Re, Lord of the Two Lands, Ruler of Kemet, Protector of the weak:  
In honor of the divine births of the Princes Akbaiket and Kerufu and the Princess Menhyt, _

_all prisoners are offered amnesty._

.

.

_~ Epilogue to follow ~_

.

.

 

 

 

(04) 09 August 2013 ~ tidy a few typos


	7. Epilogue

.

**.**

He'd had bad hangovers before – enough of them that he'd finally started being careful to stop drinking well before the room-spinning and nausea phase – but never one like this. Not only did his body feel faded and half-vaporous, but the light was was much, _much_ too bright. So bright it was painful to think.

The phrase _if the light can't get to me it can't hurt me_ floated by, offering relief. Moving his arm was impossible at first, but as the light continued to sear through his eyelids he became annoyed, which seemed to help him concentrate, and finally the numb limb attached to his shoulder obeyed his command and swung up and across his face.

Shading his eyes lifted him across a threshold of some sort, and made him aware of two things. First, feathery air currents were skimming over his skin, tickling areas that generally weren't open-air; and second, as far as he could tell his back – and backside – were on a rug. He wiggled a little. His skin pronounced the rug to be a very, very expensive silk Tabriz. He wasn't quite sure how he knew _that_ , but he did know that an expensive rug promised that he was probably indoors. Which was reassuring: the only thing that could make being naked and half-blind worse was being trampled by cattle or run over by a bus.

Still, he didn't think it was wise to lie still and wait for events to come to him, so he gathered his resolve, lowered his arm, opened his eyes and, squinting, slowly took in as much of his surroundings as he could without moving his head.

To his right was the frame of a window just at the edge of his field of vision: the source of the hurtful light. Beyond his feet, a jumble of yellow and tan and black and reddish-purple was decoded after a moment into the drawers and underside of a large desk. Behind the desk were fringed magenta draperies, curving away to the left and around a corner into an alcove. Where the drapery ended was a column of white, and to the left of that –  

_"Cyndia?"_

He sat up, the abruptness driving a figurative spike though his head. Groaning, he rested his forehead on his knees until the pain subsided enough for him to risk glancing up –  and then he felt silly. It wasn't her. Of course. It couldn't be. It was only a painting … that he himself had painted and hung in his sanctuary at Duelist Kingdom.

He leaned forward slowly until the edge of the desk was within reach, and then grasped it to pull himself up.

On the desk were six cards: three empty Soul Prison cards – 

_(he'd used two before he left, one to hold the soul-spark from Yugi-boy's grandfather and one for Kaiba's little brother …  but where had these blank ones come from?)_

– and three Duel Monster cards he didn't remember leaving out:  _The Happy Lover, Mask of Darkness_ and _Doma, the Angel of Silence._ Confused, he heard footsteps coming up the spiral staircase behind him, and so he hurried around the right side of the desk and slipped behind the draperies in the corner, holding them across his chest and lower body like a toga.

Croquet's head rose from the stairwell. When he saw Pegasus he stopped and jumped a little. "Mister Pegasus, sir … the winners are looking for you."

Pegasus was amused that Croquet didn't question what his employer was doing waiting naked behind a curtain. _I wonder if I pay him enough._ "Why?"

"Yugi Mutou wants to request that his prize money go to Joey Wheeler."

"How generous of him." _So the tournament is over, and little Yugi won. Interesting. I can't wait to watch the tapes._

"Should I tell him you'll mail it?"

"No, I'll write a check before he goes." _I wonder how Kaiba is handling being defeated again. Clearly he fumbled that duel on the roof._

Croquet was looking at him quizzically. "Are you alright, sir? You don't seem … quite yourself."

"Of course I'm myself, Croquet. Who else would I be?" Seeing the reassurance this sharp reply seemed to bring to Croquet was a bit disheartening: had he really been so snappish before? "Just fetch my checkbook from the desk. Top left drawer."

"Of course," Croquet said as he came the rest of the way up the stairs.

"And a pen?" Pegasus explained. "I … I don't have one on me."

Croquet gasped, staring at something in Cyndia's alcove.

"Well?"

Croquet swiveled his head to looked at him. "Sir … " His face was pale, almost sickly looking. "Where is your Eye?"

.

Pegasus decided an hour later that he really _wasn't_ paying his people enough.

The sight of a _second_ Pegasus slumped on the floor in front of Cyndia's portrait had shocked them both, but oddly Croquet seemed to take it in stride. He'd moved to the body to check for a pulse, and then, shaking his head, had pulled the corpse's hair forward, layering it over the bloody face to hide the horribly-empty left eye socket.

"Who is he?" Croquet had asked, as if he already considered the"dead" Pegasus a copy.

Pegasus had considered how to answer this. "Well, he's _me_ , in a way, but it's not something that I intend to explain to you at this time."

"Do I need to dispose of the body?" Croquet had asked.

This hadn't occurred to him, but he supposed that the fewer people that saw two Pegasi, the better. "Well, of _course_."

Croquet had suggested that, after Pegasus was hidden upstairs in the private garret-bedroom at the very top of the sanctuary tower, Croquet would order Kemo to carry the body – which he would say was "Pegasus, unconscious and in shock after a brutal attack" to the helipad and fly him to a hospital on the mainland. However, once Kemo was en-route he was to jettison his passenger into the bay, land the copter somewhere remote, and then lay low for a week.

Pegasus expressed skepticism at this wild plan, but Croquet had assured him that Kemo was a thug who wouldn't have any qualms about "murdering" Pegasus, especially since he'd assume he could claim that Croquet had ordered him to do it.

"I see," Pegasus had said. "And once I recuperate, Kemo won't bring up the body-dumping – he'll just assume I recovered from the attempted murder and swam to shore or was rescued." It was really quite an elegant plan, although it was dismaying to know that his underlings would be so willing to do away with him.

At any rate, now here he was, Maximillion Pegasus J Crawford, hiding in his garret, waiting for the duelists to leave. He could hear Yugi and his friends milling about in the room below, reading the diary entry he'd quickly written to explain his cruel actions toward Yugi's grandfather.

He strained to hear what they were saying, but it was all a low mumble. He wondered if Kaiba was with them – probably not, the silly boy was so anti-social.

He called Croquet. "Did Kaiba leave the island yet?" he asked in a whisper, then listened for a moment. "Wait, _what?_ Let him out of _where?_ Oh, never mind. After you give Yugi-boy the check, give him one of the cards from the armoire in my office  …  no, it doesn't matter which one. _Revolutionary Toon Girl_ , or _Silver-Haired Warrior_ or _Ties of Friendship_ or _Lover's Embrace_  ….  no, on second thought, any of them _except_ that last one. And put it in one of the nice presentation boxes. Make sure to tell him it's one of a kind, and that I wanted him to have it."

He hung up the phone. The card wasn't much, true, but its exclusivity might help soothe a bit of the burn Kaiba must be feeling after being defeated by Yugi for the second time. Perhaps, if he was lucky, Kaiba wouldn't tear the card up, but see it as the combination apology-overture it was meant to be; perhaps, if he was luckier, in a few weeks he could send Kaiba a letter, and perhaps for once it wouldn't be returned unopened, with "REFUSED" written like a faceslap.

He wrinkled his nose. He'd donned a painting smock from the easel downstairs so as not to offend Croquet's tender sensibilities with his nudity, but the fabric reeked of turpentine and he couldn't stand the smell another instant. He slid off the bed and tiptoed across the floor to the mirrored wardrobe, unbuttoning the smock and then reaching for the wardrobe door.

As he did he glimpsed his reflection: there was something in the center of his chest, a dark smudge, and he opened his smock to get a better look.

Tiny dots of dried blood were overlaid with a bruise's blue-violet tint, as if something had pressed deeply into the skin of his chest, leaving behind the faint, perfect imprint of a butterfly.

.

.

_~ The End ~_

_._

_._

A final thank you to **Shirohime** , who triggered the idea of this epilogue, and to **Dark Rabbit** , who beta'd and made key suggestions.

Additional author's notes at Dreamwidth and LiveJournal.

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(03) 7 October 2011


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